Asylum
by Tchy
Summary: What is Wonderland with no dreamer to reflect on it and to shape it? It's a twisted place, and the White Rabbit has a lot to learn... but the Cheshire Cat will be here to look after him, to protect him, to love him... MalexMale, some sexual content.
1. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter One: **Down the Rabbit Hole**

Recently, I made some minor edits to Asylum and updated all the chapters to reflect that. It's nothing huge, mainly typos and small continuity errors, but if you see something that looks a little unfamiliar, that's why. That's also why all the author's comments have disappeared, so I'll make all my relevant notes here.

First of all, Asylum _is a complete story_. However, I will be writing a sequel, titled Of Ravens and Writing Desks, which will tie up all the loose ends; if you enjoyed Asylum and want to be notified about the new story, make sure to add me to your watch list, because I will not be adding any more to this story at any point.

Second, if you are over eighteen, there is an Asylum club on y!Gallery (links in my profile), and I encourage you to sign up. If you're not eighteen, please don't; y!Gallery is an adult-only site, and it's illegal to make an account if you're underage, and they're very good at catching people. It's not worth signing up if you're just going to get kicked out, and making additional accounts to get around a suspension can get you permanently banned, and then you'll never be able to join.

Finally, I hope you enjoy the story. Asylum has been a great labour of love, and I hope it brings you as much happiness as it's brought me. Thank you to everyone for supporting me, adding it to your favourites, and leaving reviews. You guys are great, and I love every single one of you.

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

__

I'm sure that all of you have heard of Alice. Her adventures in Wonderland are quite famous by now. Everyone knows how she fell into a fantastical world, met many strange and wondrous beings, and ultimately awoke to discover that the whole thing was a dream—a product of her own imagination.

At least, that's the way she tells the story.

She's a very self-centred girl, to think that she created Wonderland—that no one else had ever seen it and no one else ever would again. The fact of the matter is, Wonderland exists in the same way that an idea exists. It has always been around, regardless of who first put it into articulation; it cannot be destroyed, no matter what you do to it; it is not the property of a single person; and, perhaps most importantly, the way it is portrayed all depends on the perspective of the person portraying it.

Alice, you see, was an innocent child. She had no concept of the peril an unfamiliar world like Wonderland could present. She certainly had no understanding of the hedonistic potential of a world without rules. To her, Wonderland was a fairyland; a pleasant dream to while away the hours, perhaps to ponder later, but ultimately a childish fantasy, to grow out of and in the end discard. Our games reflected her perception of our world; when others visited, we altered ourselves to suit their fantasies. We have always been seen through the minds of those who pay us visit.

But what of Wonderland when there is no outsider to shape us? Whose mind are we seen through then?

Ah, now there's the question.

* * *

The Cheshire Cat was the first to become aware of the change in the atmosphere.

Waking from a pleasant doze on the branch of a tree, he sat up, extending his arms above his head in a luxurious stretch. Cocking his head very slightly to the side, large cat ears flicking back and forth under his pink and purple striped hair, he focused on the air around him, eyes half-closed in concentration. It didn't take him long to identify the source of the stirring wind; within moments, a wide grin had broken out over his face.

"There's someone new in Wonderland," he murmured.

A second later, the landscape blurred around him, then came sharply into focus again. The scene around him had changed; he was no longer in the wood, but standing in a hall full of doors, at the bottom of an earth hole ascending up into darkness. His face cracked into a grin once again, so wide that the silver stud piercing through his tongue was clearly visible when he next spoke.

"She's fallen into the rabbit hole," he chuckled, smirking. "She must have followed the Rabbit. My, my... I wonder how he's dealing with it."

The Cheshire Cat had never had much cause before to speak with the White Rabbit; still, he knew who he was. The Cat knew everyone, and, truth be told, everyone knew the Rabbit. He was famous throughout Wonderland for his nervous, timid temperament; no matter what the rest of the realm had shaped itself to look like, he always seemed to retain a certain naive innocence. For that reason the Cat had never really held much interest in him, but if he was to be at the centre of Wonderland's latest adventure, it might be worth it to follow along, if only to watch him come more and more unravelled as it progressed.

Letting out one brief, wicked chuckle, the Cat once again faded into thin air, heading off to find a good vantage point to watch the games unfold.

* * *

Today was not going to be the White Rabbit's day.

First, he had taken a wrong turn in the Tulgey Wood, resulting in his anticipated shortcut turning into an unexpected detour into the outside world; next, he had inadvertently stumbled into a dreaming outsider while attempting to return home, accidentally drawing her back into Wonderland with him; then, he had suddenly found his hands turning into paws and his body shrinking as her mind took hold of Wonderland, changing him from his usual semi-human form to that of a large, upright rabbit and causing him such surprise that he tripped on his way into the rabbit hole; finally, he found, much to his dismay, that his reduced size was greatly cutting down his speed—and he had places to be. Frantically pulling his pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket, he let out a little groan of distress.

"Oh, gracious, I'm very, very late!"

"I suggest you take the garden door," said a calm voice from above him.

Startled, the Rabbit jerked his gaze from his watch to the ceiling of the Hall of Doors, desperately seeking the speaker. It took him a moment to find him, and then a moment more before recognition dawned on his face. There was only one creature in Wonderland with an accent like that.

"I know you. You're the Cheshire Cat."

The Cat lazily flicked his tail, stretching out in a relaxed manner on one of the rafters, and winked at him with one bright purple eye.

"But, but—aren't you usually... bigger?" continued the Rabbit nervously, hoping his question wouldn't offend him, one of Wonderland's more powerful denizens.

But the Cat, it seemed, didn't care. "Generally," he replied, his tone objective as he examined one of his own paws. "It would seem that our current visitor has a very literal perspective of animals. No people with cat ears for her—or young men who look like rabbits," he added, lifting his gaze to the trembling White Rabbit. Somehow, the Cat's grin was even more terrifying on this new, non-human face.

The Rabbit gulped. "W-what was it you said—about a door?" he stammered.

"Oh, that?" the Cat asked, nonchalant. "I said, 'I suggest you take the garden door,'" he repeated, gesturing with one paw at a little door, half-concealed behind a curtain at the end of the Hall. "She won't be able to fit through it, and you can always lock it behind you if you're worried about being followed."

"Oh, ah—thank you," the Rabbit said with a sudden rush of gratitude, giving him a quick, awkward bow. The Cat only smiled wider. Uneasy, the Rabbit scurried down the Hall, opened the door, and vanished through it with a sigh of relief.

Behind him, the Cheshire Cat faded into nothing as a young girl in blue and white came tumbling out of the rabbit hole.

* * *

The Cheshire Cat had begun to grow bored with the game. For a while, things had been quite entertaining. The little blonde outsider had had quite a bit of bother with the garden door, got herself into great deal of trouble with changing her own size, and scared away a whole host of creatures with talk of her pet cat. He had watched from a distance as the White Rabbit, flustered and still convinced he was going to be late for whatever it was he was going to, had mistaken her for his servant girl and sent her off to find his gloves—only to have her grow to an enormous size in his own house, causing no end of panic—and a great deal of gleeful laughter for the Cat. Somehow shrinking to a minuscule size, she had nevertheless sent off the assembled crowd with little trouble, and, after a thoroughly long-winded and slow-moving conversation with the Caterpillar—unusually docile under her influence—had even managed to figure out how to control her own height. But now, things had slowed down a great deal—to the point where the Cat was even considering getting involved himself.

Quickly deciding that the best way to get the game moving again was to send her off in a new, more interesting direction, the Cat positioned himself accordingly. First, he popped into the Duchess's house—where the girl was, at that point, arguing with the woman in question—only to vanish a moment later as soon as she looked the other way. Rearranging himself comfortably on a tree branch just outside the house, he watched the door, knowing she'd make her escape soon, and counting on what he had observed of her curiosity to send her towards him at the next opportunity. Sure enough, she soon appeared, carrying a pig—he wasn't going to ask—which she quickly let go into the forest, whereupon she spotted him without delay.

Approaching cautiously in the face of his grin, she looked up, speaking with a timidity that reminded him strongly of the White Rabbit.

"Cheshire Puss," she began, hesitating, as though unsure of his reaction.

He only grinned, imagining the equally nervous Rabbit addressing him thus. Replying with a tentative smile and seeming to take courage from his positive reaction, she squared her shoulders and went on.

"Cheshire Puss, would you tell me, please, which way I ought to walk from here?"

* * *

The White Rabbit watched this exchange with a growing sense of indignation. The conversation had started badly, with the Cheshire Cat offhandedly informing her that everyone in Wonderland was mad—an accusation, he fumed, which was certainly most untrue—and had only grown worse, with the Cat first offering her an unauthorized invitation to play croquet with the Queen of Hearts, and then adding that she would see him, another uninvited guest, when she arrived at the Palace. As soon as she was happily on her way to the Mad Tea Party, the White Rabbit stepped out of the underbrush, hands—well, paws, if we were being honest—on his hips and his gaze fixed on the branch where he had last seen the Cat appear.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed, hoping and praying that he wasn't just talking to an empty forest.

Luckily for him, the Cat was evidently still around, because first his grin, then the rest of him, faded back into being on the branch in question.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, his voice holding a very obvious note of false innocence.

"You know exactly what I mean!" the White Rabbit cried, growing frantic. "You can't invite her to the Queen's—you're uninvited yourself! Besides, you should really know better—you of all people should know how dangerous the Queen can be."

"Nonsense," said the Cat with a patronizing smile. "Look around you," he continued, gesturing at the peaceful wood, normally so dark and frightening, and the clear, pleasant blue of the sky. "Nothing in Wonderland has been dangerous since she showed up. She even spent a good fifteen minutes conversing with the Caterpillar and he didn't so much as twitch." He paused. "Though he may have been inhaling fumes of a relaxing nature, now that I think of it. It can be hard to tell with him." He shrugged, his shoulders poking up sharply under his pink and purple striped fur. "Either way, there's nothing dangerous around while she's here."

Then his smile turned sly; his muscles bunched as he jumped from the branch, landing on the ground in front of the Rabbit with a predatory smirk. "Of course," he purred, "I could always change that."

"N-no, no," the White Rabbit stammered hastily, backing away, paws raised placatingly in front of him. "Y-you're right, of course—the Queen w-won't hurt her—of c-course she can come to the croquet game. I'll—I'll look after her myself!"

The Cat smiled, sitting back on his haunches in that self-satisfied way that only a cat can. "Good," he said, his voice still a purr. "I suppose I'll see you there, too."

"B-but—you can't—"

But the Cat was already gone.

* * *

By the time the Cheshire Cat finally made his appearance at the Palace, the croquet game was already well underway—if you could call it that. The game was the most disorganized exercise in mass chaos he had ever seen—and so, after a brief conversation with the young outsider, during which he ascertained that she was, in fact, perfectly safe, he settled back out of the way to watch. He was unconcerned with the fact that his head was visible despite his invisible body; it was a state of being that made him remarkably hard to behead, always a positive when one was around the Queen of Hearts—although it was, ultimately, the King who first suggested they try the procedure on him. He listened, unconcerned, and, truth be told, with a great deal of amusement, as they discussed whether a beheading would be possible to perform on a creature with no body, and then, with a smile and a wink in the direction of the White Rabbit, faded out as soon as they looked the other way.

He watched the game progress in absurdity until the Queen had sent everyone off to be beheaded, but for herself, her husband, and the girl. The White Rabbit was still hovering around the edge of the field. Leaving off watching the girl for a moment—she was being taken out anyway to listen to a story—the Cat made his invisible way over to him, reappearing silently behind him.

"So, how are you making out?" he asked casually. The Rabbit's reaction was astonishing. He shrieked and jumped two feet in the air—an impressive feat when one is only a foot and a half high oneself—and whirled around, wide-eyed and gasping for breath.

"Don't _do_ that to me!" he exclaimed, adjusting his glasses, when he had calmed himself enough to speak. "You almost scared me right out of my skin."

"Now that would have been a sight," the Cat observed, grinning, rather amused by the way the White Rabbit shrank under his gaze.

"It most certainly would not have been," the Rabbit protested. "I should not have liked it at all."

The Cheshire Cat only smiled. "You're a strange little creature, for a Wonderland denizen," he observed. "I can't quite put my paw on it, but you're most unusual."

The Rabbit gaped at him. "I am no such thing!" he sputtered, "If anyone here is unusual, it is most definitely you!"

"No, no," the Cat said. "In case you haven't noticed, my oddities fit in perfectly here. You're the one trying to maintain your normalcy—which makes you the unusual one in this equation."

The expression that crossed the Rabbit's face next was one the Cheshire Cat would never forget. It was an absolutely precious mix of indignation, denial, shock, a dawning realization, and complete dread. The appearance of the expression was followed by a great deal of confused stuttering that sounded something like, "Well, I never—but you—I can't—I'm just—no, but—"

"I don't know how I never noticed this before," the Cat interrupted in an observational tone. "You're adorable. What's your name?"

That brought the Rabbit up short. "N-name?"

"Yes, your name," the Cat said patiently. "A designation, given at birth, generally used to address the bearer. You hardly strike me as the type to lack one."

"Well, yes, but I—I mean," the Rabbit said, clearly in a state of high confusion. "I-I-I—m-my name is—is... Theodore," he said finally. "Theodore Darwin."

"Theodore," the Cat murmured, testing it out. The Rabbit felt a shiver travel down his spine; with the Cat's unusual accent, his name almost seemed to roll right off his tongue.

"Y-yes," he said hesitantly. "What—what's yours?"

"I don't have one," the Cat replied cheerfully. "You can call me Chesh."

"Um," Theodore said. "All right... Ch-Chesh..."

The Cat smiled. Just then, a trumpet sounded, and they heard a voice calling, "The trial is about to begin!" The Rabbit jumped, instantly in a state of frenzied energy once again.

"Oh dear, I'm going to be late—"

"Relax," interrupted the Cat in a tone that brooked no argument. "You have plenty of time. You're just going to make yourself panic if you keep worrying about being late."

"But—but—" Theodore protested, clutching frantically at his pocket watch.

"You have plenty of time," the Cat repeated. "I'll see you inside—Theo."

That was enough to startle the Rabbit out of his state for a moment. "Theo?" he sputtered. "My name is _Theodore_!"

But once again, the Cat had vanished.

* * *

How Theodore got through the trial that followed, he could never remember. His mind was jumping between his usual cautiousness, worry about the trial, the edginess the Cat always inspired him with, and that strange moment of warmth he had felt when Chesh had said his name. Still, he managed fine, somehow—up until the outsider decided to take matters into her own hands. Within moments, the entire court had erupted into chaos.

Cards—solders, courtiers, gardeners, King, Queen—were suddenly flying everywhere; the jurors were in panic; the witnesses were running all over the place. The White Rabbit leapt to his feet, crying, pleading for calm, but he couldn't be heard over the uproar—and at the middle of it all, the girl, knocking over furniture in her suddenly gigantic size, scattering the crowds, batting the cards out of her way with a sharp scream—and then without warning she vanished. Theodore felt a momentary rush of relief—and then suddenly everything was much, much worse.

With the girl gone and her mind no longer holding sway over Wonderland, it instantly reverted to its true, twisted self. Cards and animals returned to their human shapes; suddenly, they had blood to spill. In a moment, weapons went from decorative to deadly. The Queen of Hearts, unstable even under the girl's influence, was let free of her restraints; with a hysterical laugh, she picked up a nearby axe, and soon her beautiful, terrifying face was dripping with her own subjects' blood as she sent their heads flying. And in the middle of the battlefield, which had only a moment ago been a comical pileup, was Theodore, sobbing with terror as he tried desperately to avoid the soldiers' swords.

Then out of nowhere he felt a strong arm around his waist, yanking him out of the path of a descending blade. "Hold on," said an urgent voice in his ear, and he clung desperately. In a second, the world blurred and melted, the sound faded—he couldn't feel anything—except the warmth of the body pressed against his—

Then reality slammed sharply back in and he found himself staring at his own ivy covered brick house, with the quiet sounds of a Wonderland afternoon fluttering against his ears.

The grip on his waist relaxed and he heard his rescuer give a relieved sigh. "That was close. I almost didn't get to you in time."

Theodore froze. Only one person in Wonderland spoke with that accent...

"Chesh," he whispered, turning around and looking up into the eyes of the Cheshire Cat.

The man standing in front of him was a great deal more impressive than the colourful striped cat he had seen less than an hour before. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the warm tanned skin of someone who spent most of his time outdoors, he was strong and well built, standing with the lazy grace of one who had never had to work for it. The muscular definition of his torso was further emphasized by the striped net top he wore; sleeveless and clingy, it clearly showed the silver studs that pierced through his nipples, and ended with ragged strips that exposed his abdomen invitingly. His throat was adorned with a studded black collar and a bell that chimed whenever he moved; his arms were covered by a pair of striped fingerless gloves that extended halfway up his upper arms. His powerful legs were sharply defined by the fitted leather pants he wore; each coloured section of pink or purple was stitched to the next stripe with thick leather cords. He was barefoot; despite the human appearance of his feet, his toes, like his fingers, were tipped with sharp claws. His face, for the most part human, was topped by large pierced cat ears that blended into the pink and purple stripes of his hair; a similarly coloured tail flicked lazily back and forth behind him. His lips, split so wide by an amused grin, were also decorated with two silver rings. Altogether, he presented a perfect picture of the alluring danger of wild Wonderland—a picture that Theodore was not entirely sure he was comfortable with.

The Cat gave him a knowing smirk. "Enjoying the view?" he asked casually. Startled, Theodore flushed bright red.

"N-no, I was—I mean—I-I've just never s-seen you—up close before," he stammered.

"Relax," said the Cat, "I'm just teasing. You don't have to get so worked up around me—I mean, I did just save you and all. I'm not going to eat you."

"Oh—yes, I, um—th-thank you," Theodore said, still at a loss; the Cat's grin wasn't helping him feel especially at ease.

"Theodore, relax," the Cat repeated, laying a reassuring hand on the Rabbit's shoulder. "You're fine now. Hell, you should be used to it—you work for her, don't you?"

It took Theodore a few disoriented moments to realize he was talking about the Queen of Hearts. "Oh—yes. She—she has her—her moments," he rambled. "A-and the King always sews them back together—"

"Good," the Cat interrupted, cracking another smile. "Then you've got nothing to worry about."

"I—I should probably get inside—"

"Mh, yeah," the Cheshire Cat said, stretching. "Wonderland's back to its usual dangerous self." He grinned.

That was enough to distract Theodore for a moment. "What are you smiling for?" Surely he wasn't happy about the danger...

The Cat chuckled. "As fun as it is watching outsiders trying to cope with us, and as glad as I am of the stir of activity they leave behind, I'm always happiest to see them go. I'd much rather be myself. That girl and her bloody Victorian sensibilities were fucking up my speech patterns."

Theodore paled at the language, making the stark red of his eyes stand out even more. "Oh, I-I see," he stuttered. "Well, I'd—I'd better get inside—"

"Hold on," the Cat said, catching his arm at the elbow when he turned away. "I just saved your life. Don't you think you owe me something?"

"I—I already said thank you," Theodore began hesitantly, looking up into the Cat's bright purple eyes.

"Of course you did," the Cat purred. "But your life is worth more than that, isn't it?"

The Rabbit felt his blood run cold. "B-but," he protested, "you're the Cheshire Cat! What sort of reward could I possibly give you?" Frantic, he quickly began running through a mental list of his prized possessions. "I don't—"

The Cat interrupted him with a finger on his lips. "I thought I told you to call me Chesh," he said mildly. "Don't worry about it. I'm only teasing; you don't have to do anything more. Though if you _did_ want to give me a reward, there is something I wouldn't mind..."

"Th-there is?"

"Naturally," the Cat said with a smile. "A kiss."

* * *

"A kiss?" the Rabbit practically choked.

"Would it really be so much trouble?" Chesh asked, flashing a smile. "Just one little kiss?"

"B-but—I mean, I've never—"

"You really are quite adorable, you know," the Cat interrupted, brushing a stray lock of white hair—one of many—back from the boy's forehead. The Rabbit shivered at his touch.

"W-what do you mean?" he asked, blinking up at him innocently.

"I mean you're sweet," Chesh said, smiling patiently. "Your little glasses, the way your hair won't lie flat, those adorable ears and the little tail, the bow tie, your conservative clothes—I bet you'd even be wearing shoes if your feet were shaped right for them," he added, gesturing down at Theodore's rabbit paws. "It's really very charming. You don't see this sort of thing in Wonderland often."

"Oh," Theodore stammered, "I—I n-never thought about it—no one's ever—"

"Called you cute?" the Cat finished. "Well, you are. So, how about it, Theo?" he purred. "Will you give me a kiss?"

"I, I—" Theodore began, bewildered. "Y-you really—want me to?"

"Of course." Chesh smiled.

"Oh—I, um... o-okay—" the Rabbit said uncertainly, taking a tiny step towards him. Smile growing into a pleased grin, Chesh closed the gap between them, gently threading the fingers of one hand into Theodore's hair as he tipped his head back. The young man was trembling in his arms.

"Just relax," he purred, dipping his head down to press a kiss to Theodore's lips.

The kiss was soft and slow. Chesh chose not to push him, nudging his lips gently with his tongue, but not pressing for entrance. When he pulled away, it was relaxed and gradual. Trembling delicately, Theodore's eyes took a long time to flutter open.

"There," Chesh murmured, voice low. "Was that so bad?"

Giving him one wide-eyed look, the young Rabbit broke from his hold, fleeing towards his house. Chesh let him go. His kiss would remain imprinted on Theodore's mind. For now, there was no hurry.


	2. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Two: **Curiouser and Curiouser**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

"Just relax," the Cheshire Cat purred—and then Theodore felt something soft and warm envelop his lips.

Frozen and shivering as the heat flooded his body, he could do nothing but stand there in shock, clinging to the warm body of the man kissing him as he felt a gentle tongue nudge against his mouth. The Cat's hand was threaded into Theodore's hair, making him terribly conscious of their difference in height, making him shudder, making his body ache. By the time the Cat pulled away, Theodore was dazed and his pulse was fluttery, and he couldn't look away.

"There," the Cat said quietly, a softer smile than his usual grin playing over his lips. "Was that so bad?"

Trembling, Theodore didn't know whether to reach for him or run.

"Do you want me to do it again?" the Cat whispered.

"Chesh..."

The smirk that flashed over the Cat's face was so dangerous—so tempting—

"I thought so," he purred, and then his lips were pressed against Theodore's again, forceful and passionate.

Theodore's eyes opened wide with shock—and suddenly he found himself staring at his own bedroom ceiling, gasping for breath, heart pounding in his ears and his body drenched with sweat. It had all been a dream.

Just a dream.

Slamming his face down into his pillow, Theodore let out a frustrated scream. Ever since he had felt the Cat's kiss, he just couldn't get it out of his head. He had dreamed about it every night in the week since that day, and he was losing rest because of it. He knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, either, so, despite the early morning hour, he dragged his tired body out of bed, pulling on a housecoat, and made his way downstairs to get himself some tea. Mary Ann would be in later to do some housework and make his evening meal, but he couldn't wait for then.

"Why did I let him talk me into that?" he muttered angrily as he bustled around the kitchen finding tea, teacup, saucer, teapot, sugar, cream, and teaspoon. "It's not as though he cares about me—or I care about him, for that matter! We've scarcely met—and he's caused no end of trouble! Now I'm having trouble sleeping, and the whole thing seems dreadfully awkward to me... oh, dear..."

"What seems dreadfully awkward?"

Yelping in shock, Theodore whirled around to find the Cheshire Cat draped across his kitchen table, which had definitely been empty when he had passed it a moment before. "You—but—what—what are you doing here?" he demanded when he had finally managed to stop gaping. "And get off my table!"

Unconcerned, the Cat swung himself to his feet, sauntering over to Theodore and leaning on the counter next to him. "I was bored, so I thought I'd drop by for a visit."

"A—a visit?" Theodore stuttered indignantly. "You can't just show up uninvited in people's houses whenever you please! Get out! My god, I'm not even dressed yet!"

"Oh, come on," said the Cat. "That's not a very polite way to treat a friend."

"Friend?" Theodore practically shrieked. "You're not my friend! Now get out!"

"All right, all right," the Cat said. "Relax. You seem particularly high-strung today. What's the bother?"

At that, Theodore froze. "That's none of your business," he said stiffly, turning his back and going back to his tea in a valiant attempt to ignore the Cat. It failed.

"Theo, come on—"

"My name is not Theo!"

"_Theodore_," the Cat said. "Come on. I didn't mean to cause you trouble—"

Theodore slammed his teacup down hard enough on his saucer that the tea slopped out of it, sending a spreading puddle of liquid dripping over the countertop. "Yes, well, you did!" he cried. "I can't sleep and I'm jumping at shadows and it's all because of you—now get out, before you make things worse!"

For a long while, there was silence. Theodore found himself hoping that the Cat had vanished again; however, that hope was dashed when he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. He stiffened, suddenly trembling, but made no move to get away.

"Theodore," the Cat said softly, "I'm sorry. Please, tell me. I'm trying to help."

The Rabbit's voice was shaking when he next spoke. "You've already _helped_ enough. Ever since you kissed me—"

"Oh, that's what this is about," the Cat said. "If it really bothers you that much, why did you agree to it?"

"I—you—I just—what else was I supposed to do? You just sprung it on me out of nowhere—"

"All right! I get it. Look, Theo—"

"Theodore!"

"Theodore," the Cat sighed, "I didn't mean anything by it. It's hardly a cause for panic, and I didn't mean to trouble your sleeping—"

"Yes, well, you did," snapped Theodore, abruptly shrugging the Cat's hand off his shoulder. "Now, just—just go away, Cat. I don't want to deal with you right now."

The room was silent for a moment, and then the Cat leaned forward, soft breath tickling Theodore's ear. "I told you to call me Chesh... Theo."

"My name is _Theodore_!" the Rabbit yelled, whirling around to glare at him—but by the time he'd finished his sentence, the Cat was gone.

* * *

The next time he ran into the Cat, Theodore was making his way through the Tulgey Wood, nervously darting glances back and forth as he hurried along the path. Wary as he was, he was not expecting to be addressed—much less from above—and thus it came as a complete shock to him when an amused voice spoke from the tree he was passing under.

"You'd really do much better not to be out here, you know."

Theodore's reaction was, as usual for this sort of thing, rather spectacular. Letting out a shriek, he jumped several feet in the air, back-pedalling so quickly in his effort to get away from the source of his surprise that he ended up tumbling into the dirt. A soft laugh sounded as he searched desperately for his glasses, finding them and placing them back on his nose just in time to see the Cheshire Cat easily swinging himself down from a branch.

"Rather jumpy today, aren't you?" he observed casually, offering a hand to help Theodore stand. The Rabbit ignored him, scrambling to his feet and frantically brushing himself off as he snapped an answer.

"I am not! I'm just cautious," he protested, ensuring that his pocket watch was intact and rapidly adjusting his red bow tie. "It's only common sense! Wouldn't you be, walking through the Tulgey Wood?"

The Cat chuckled. "Not really—but then, I'm not you."

Theodore glared at him. "You knew very well what I meant!"

"Yeah, I did," the Cat said, amused. "And it lines up pretty neatly with what I said. You'd do better not to be out here."

"I have duties at the Palace of Hearts today."

"Still, better not to walk this way," the Cat advised, grinning. "You know why they call this forest the Tulgey Wood? It's after an old poem. They say there's a fearsome monster called the Jabberwock about in these woods."

"It's not like I have a choice!" Theodore snapped, trying to shoulder past him. The Cat stepped back, turning easily to keep pace with him.

"Certainly you do. Let me take you."

The White Rabbit turned to stare at him. "Let you take me? No thank you! I'd rather walk," he said, starting to move with extra purpose.

The Cat shrugged. "Well, at least you have a choice."

"As if that makes it any better," Theodore snorted. "How useful is a choice I won't take?"

"You can't fault me for providing what you asked for," the Cat said, a grin beginning to spread over his face.

"But it's a useless choice!"

"It's still a choice," the Cat said, chuckling.

Theodore shook his head, beginning to grow frustrated. "You're just being a bother, Cat!"

"How many times, Theo," the Cat inquired mildly, completely ignoring the rest of his remark, "do I have to tell you to call me Chesh?"

"As many times as I have to tell you to call me Theodore!" the Rabbit retorted hotly. The Cat sighed dramatically.

"What on earth do you want a long, troublesome name like that for? I don't insist that everyone call me the Cheshire Cat all the time, do I?"

Theodore just glared at him, irritated and unable to think up a response.

The Cat, never one to waste an opportunity, took his silence as an invitation to change the subject. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the Palace?"

"Not a chance," the Rabbit snapped.

"All right," the Cat said, shrugging, as he grabbed a nearby branch and swung himself up onto it. "If you'd rather walk through the Duchess's grounds, along the edge of the March Hare's property, and right past the Caterpillar's den, you be my guest—hope you don't get too badly hurt." And with that, he started to fade out.

Theodore, who had stopped short at the mention of the Duchess and was trembling by the time the Cat said "Caterpillar," was badly shaken by this sudden onslaught of coldness. Was it really a good idea to refuse his offer? The Cat may have been vexing, but at least Theodore knew he wouldn't hurt him—

"Wait!"

Abruptly popping back into existence as though he'd been expecting exactly that reaction, the Cat looked down at him, a wide grin stretching across his face. "Yes?"

"Well, I—it—I—m-maybe—it wouldn't hurt if—if you g-gave me a lift..."

Smiling, the Cat dropped back down in front of him, holding out his hand. Theodore hesitated.

"Come on, take it," the Cat sighed impatiently. "I can't take you anywhere if you won't touch me."

Reaching forward with some trepidation, the Rabbit carefully put his hand into the Cat's. Immediately, he felt his fingers enclosed in a strong grip, and a second later, Wonderland had softened and faded out and he found himself floating in empty space. Instinctively, he clutched tighter at the Cat's fingers, and distantly he felt a comforting squeeze back. Then reality returned with a shocking finality, and Theodore almost found himself stumbling on the front step of the Palace.

The Cat released his hand with a smug grin. "There you are. I just saved you almost an hour of walking and a dangerous trip through the Tulgey Wood. Aren't you glad you took my offer?"

"Y-yes," Theodore stammered, because, really, what else could he say? "Th-thank you."

Suddenly he felt his chin lifted gently by claw-tipped fingers. "Come now. You know what kind of thank-you I really want," the Cat purred.

The Rabbit's eyes grew wide. "Y-you—but—I—you never said—!" he protested, voice growing increasingly frantic. The Cat laughed.

"Theo, relax. I was just kidding."

Torn between relief, indignation, and anger, the White Rabbit found he could only sputter.

The Cat, however, wasn't paying attention. He was looking up at the Palace with the sort of mistrust one would normally expect to see directed at the most dangerous of prisons. "Are you sure you'll be all right in there?" he asked, his wary look settling on the tower Theodore knew to contain the Queen's bedroom. Distracted from his irritation by the familiar wave of half-suppressed panic, he only nodded.

Theodore was fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch; out of habit, he popped it open, checking the time. Half past nine. He was early. "I—I can handle it," he said, his voice very small. "Really."

The Cat turned his eyes on him; distaste was replaced by concern. "She's a dangerous woman, Theodore," he said softly.

"Sh-she'll be okay, today," Theodore said, looking down. "Her l-last—episode—was only two weeks ago. She's off in her own little dream world, other times."

"And the King? You trust that he won't hurt you?"

Theodore shook his head. "He's s-still... fixing... the soldiers she k-k-killed last time."

"Reanimating them, you mean," the Cat said disgustedly. Theodore ducked his head.

"I won't even s-see him. He l-leaves my instructions on his desk."

The Cat was silent for a moment, then sighed. "If you're sure...," he said, lifting a hand to brush the hair back from Theodore's forehead; the Rabbit shivered under his touch and flinched away.

"I—I'll be fine," he said. "Don't—don't worry about me."

The Cat gave a rueful half smile. "Don't worry. Well... it's a bit late for that."

Biting his lip, Theodore turned and hurried through the Palace doors.

* * *

The next morning, when Theodore stepped out of the front door of his house, Chesh was waiting for him. Swinging himself off the tree branch he'd been sitting on, he dropped to the ground, landing on the path directly in front of the Rabbit—who promptly shrieked and jumped several feet in the air again.

"Really, Theodore," Chesh said mildly, once the screaming had stopped. "You need to stop doing that. You're going to damage your ears."

"Well, _you_ need to stop popping out of nowhere and scaring me half to death!" Theodore retorted when he'd calmed himself enough to answer.

"Nonsense," Chesh said. "I can't have scared you half to death. I've scared you more than once, and if I'd really scared you half to death, you'd have been dead by the time I appeared in your kitchen last week."

Theodore gaped at him.

"If you'd say what you meant, we wouldn't be having these little problems," Chesh observed cheerfully.

Theodore huffed, turning away from him and starting to make his way along the forest path. "If you'd leave me alone, we wouldn't be having these problems either."

"Certainly we wouldn't—because there would be no _we_ to have them," Chesh said, easily falling into step beside him.

Theodore chose to ignore that remark. "What do you want?" he asked, eyes straight ahead.

"To help you."

The Rabbit turned to him, eyes incredulous. "To _help_ me?"

"Certainly," Chesh said, smiling widely. Theodore dropped his eyes. "You seemed glad of my help yesterday. I thought I'd offer you another quick trip."

Theodore was silent. Sensing an opportunity, Chesh pressed on. "Think about it. Do you really want to walk through the Tulgey Wood when you've got an easy way to avoid it?"

The Rabbit hesitated, then reluctantly shook his head. "But don't think you're getting any favours out of it," he warned, turning towards Chesh and holding out his hand.

But Chesh, it seemed, had other ideas. Certainly, he took Theodore's hand—but only to draw him forward, pulling him into the circle of his arms. "Certainly not," he said, before Theodore could protest. "I don't force my friends to repay me." And then the world started melting again.

As soon as they touched down on the Palace steps, Theodore jerked himself out of Chesh's hold. "Why did you do that?" he asked. Chesh could hear the faint trembling of his voice. He smiled reassuringly.

"You seemed nervous last time, when I held your hand. I thought this might give you some comfort."

Theodore had no answer to that, so he looked away, turning to the Palace doors. "I'm early," he murmured.

"Is it really going to matter?" Chesh said. Theodore turned startled eyes on him. Chesh just shrugged, and answered his unspoken question. "No one else pays attention to time in Wonderland. The King never sets you a time to be here by, does he?"

"I—I just—it—but—but it's _always_ ten o'clock when I arrive at the Palace!"

"That doesn't mean you're early if you arrive ahead of time. How can you be early—or late—if no one gives you a time to arrive by?"

Theodore just blinked at him, expression hesitant. "I—I just... _can_."

"Theo, that doesn't make any sense," the Cat sighed in exasperation.

"Oh, you're a fine one to talk!" Theodore retorted. "Nothing you say ever makes sense! And stop calling me Theo!"

Chesh gave him a very dry look. "Think about what you're saying. What have I ever said to you that was completely insensible?"

Theodore opened his mouth hotly, then stopped, finding himself at a loss. As bizarre as the Cat's logic frequently was, it could never be denied that his remarks made sense—in a strangely twisted way. Occasionally they took some thought, but there was always reason to them.

"But, but—you said everyone in Wonderland was mad!" Theodore protested. "That's what you told that girl—and you had the most illogical argument to prove your own madness! Something about—about dogs, and how you must be mad because a dog's not mad. It was utterly absurd!"

Chesh rolled his eyes. "That's what one refers to as a joke, Theodore. Truth be told," he continued, and here he started to chuckle, "I had a hard time of it not bursting into laughter when she just lapped it right up."

"But—but, you still said—"

"That everyone is mad. Yes, I know," Chesh said. "But think about it, Theo. I may be strange—but am I really mad? Or do I simply enjoy playing games?"

Theodore bit his lip. He could hardly deny that what the Cat said made sense—as odd as his remarks often were, they never lacked meaning. Often they were downright nonsense, but they were never illogical. And Chesh had certainly never exhibited any of the other tendencies of madness he had noted in the Wonderland denizens he knew—hallucinations, insensible statements, memory problems, delusions, disdain for others' rights—

"You—you're not mad... are you?" he said, looking up at him with some trepidation. Chesh smiled.

"Last I checked, I was in full possession of my own mind."

"Oh...," Theodore said. "I—I see..." He hesitated. "That doesn't stop you from being utterly infuriating."

Chesh blinked, then gave a sudden bark of full-throated laughter. "Fair enough," he chuckled. "I suppose I'll see you around." And then, with a wink, he vanished, leaving Theodore to face the entrance to the Palace all on his own.

Suddenly far more nervous than he cared to think about, Theodore stepped forward haltingly, fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch. He pulled it out. Quarter past nine. He was very early—no, he wasn't early. Chesh was right. He couldn't be early if there was no set timeframe. Still, it comforted him in his own mind to think of it as early. And early, he reasoned, was certainly much better than late.

Stepping through the doors, Theodore padded silently down the halls, hoping he wouldn't encounter anyone. He was lucky—only a servant or two in livery, hurrying past him with their heads down—until he reached the hallway outside the throne room, just before the King's office. There, he came face to face with the King himself, gently leading the Queen into the throne room.

"Y-your Majesties," he stammered, almost stumbling in his haste to bow.

"Darwin," the King said, nodding. His voice was cold; it always was. Everything about him was emotionless: one blue eye burned with a feverish blankness; the other was hidden behind a monocle. His crown was sharp, steely, geometric. Even the red of his doublet and breeches looked frosted.

"I—I was just on my way t-to pick up my instructions for the day," Theodore said, still bent low. "B-but since you're here, I can—I can receive them in person, s-sire."

"I have a better idea—let me play with him," a whispery female voice said. Frightened, Theodore glanced up quickly at the Queen. Even in the plainest of clothes, she would have been beautiful; resplendent in a black and red gown, touched here and there with gold, the heart motif obvious in the shapes of the fabric, with her face immaculately made up and her hair piled perfectly under her delicate tiara, she was truly stunning—but her soft brown eyes were wild, intent, too hot. It was all too easy to picture her with blood dripping down her face as she laughed and laughed.

"Now, now, darling," the King soothed, his voice still distant and detached. "We need him to do his job," he said, speaking as though the two of them were completely alone. Theodore bit his lip and dropped his eyes, saying nothing.

"No," the Queen whispered, her voice hardening slightly. "It would be ever so much more fun to make him scream—"

"Shh, shh," the King murmured, voice almost mechanical. The hand resting at his side was twitching and crawling in midair like a giant injured spider.

"We should take off his head—take it off—I love watching their heads come off—and you can always put him back together—"

Trembling, Theodore clutched at his pocket watch, desperately wanting to pull it out and check the time again, but frozen with fear—unable to complete this one gesture that would comfort him. He could feel his breathing picking up and his heart beginning to pound in his ears, and desperately he pleaded with anyone that was listening, _no, please, not here—not now—please just let me get away from them—_

"I'll send him out to work, dear," the King said. "If he does an unsatisfactory job, we can kill him."

Theodore almost choked, breath coming so fast it was only a flutter. He felt dizzy and light headed. Dimly, he reminded himself to breathe.

Smiling dreamily, the Queen relaxed, leaning slightly against her husband. The King turned his attention to Theodore, gaze blank and empty. "She means no harm," he said, forcing a smile. "In an hour she'll have forgotten this ever happened."

Theodore swallowed hard. "Y-yes, of course, sire. W-what are my duties for today?"

"On my desk, you'll find a message addressed to the Duchess. Deliver it to her, await her reply, and return with her message. The Queen desires to hear from her cousin."

"My pretty little cousin...," the Queen murmured.

Shaking so hard he couldn't speak, Theodore nodded. Then, bowing once more to the King and his wife, he fled for the relative safety of the King's study, collapsing against the wall as he fought to control his trembling.

_Not here, not now, oh please god not now—_

Shaking, he pulled out his pocket watch and flicked it open, calming immediately at the familiar sight of the clock face. Thirty-two past nine. Forcing himself to breathe deeply, he counted the seconds until thirty-seven minutes, twenty-nine seconds past nine as he gradually felt his heartbeat slow to normal.

Then, quickly gathering up the message for the Duchess, he scurried out of the Palace.

* * *

By the time Theodore had arrived at the Duchess's estate, he had mostly calmed himself; he felt another wave of nervousness swell up as he stepped through her gate, but it was no more severe than his normal wariness. Still, he was cautious walking up the front path, and when he knocked, it was a very timid and small sound.

Almost immediately, the door was thrown open, and Theodore leapt back in shock, biting down a yelp; the Duchess herself stood before him. Taller and more solid of build, her hair a pale brown and her eyes a murky hazel, garbed in a gown of cream, gold, and green and with her hair tucked up under a headdress, she nonetheless bore a strong resemblance to her more delicate cousin. That alone was enough to set Theodore shaking; that her expression was a picture of violent outrage and her fists were planted solidly on her hips was more than enough reason to shrink away from her.

"Was that meant to be a knock?" she shrieked. "I've heard knocks twice as loud from a mouse!"

Bowing, cringing, Theodore stuttered, "A th-th-thousand ap-p-pologies, y-your grace—"

"You're a filthy liar," she snapped. "Why, you haven't apologized a thousand times at all!"

"I b-beg your pardon—"

"Stop cowering! Stand up straight! Speak properly! Did your mother teach you no manners?" Her eyes were hard, her face red with fury; spittle was flying from her mouth as she shrieked. Trembling, Theodore struggled to do as she ordered.

"That's better," she snarled, not sounding satisfied at all. "Now, state your business! You bring a message, do you not? Act the messenger!"

"I-I bear a l-letter from your c-cousin, the Queen of Hearts," Theodore stammered. "Sh-she desires to hear from you, y-your grace."

"Oh." And just like that, all the anger went out of her. Her arms relaxed, hands folding together in front of her; the red of her face calmed. "Of course! What wonderful news! Do come in. You'll take luncheon with me, of course?"

Almost more frightened at her rapid change of mood than anything else she had done so far, the Rabbit could only nod, mutely following her into her house. There he received his second great shock of the moment, because curled up in a pile of cushions in front of the fire was the Cheshire Cat.

The Duchess scarcely noticed how he stopped dead in the doorway, staring, so intent was she on returning to the armchair next to the Cat. Theodore watched, bewildered and shocked, as she leaned down to scratch the skin behind his ears. In response, the Cat nuzzled his head up against her hand; she beamed brightly at this, continuing to scratch his ears and cooing childlike endearments, as, hesitantly, Theodore approached, his perplexed eyes still on the Cat.

"Sit down, dear, please!" the Duchess urged as he neared, looking up for only a moment before going back to petting the Cat. Unthinking, Theodore did as ordered, staring at him; the Cat, with a grin and a wink in his direction, started purring. Theodore felt his cheeks flush and he looked away.

"Isn't he a handsome cat?" the Duchess sighed finally, sitting up and folding her hands primly in front of her. Theodore gave her a startled look, eyes darting involuntarily to the Cat on the floor.

"Oh, ah—yes. V-very handsome."

The Cat smirked. Flushing further, Theodore looked away again.

"Very handsome," the Duchess agreed, nodding sagely. "Now, I believe you had a message for me?"

"Oh, yes," Theodore said, flustered, quickly searching around his clothes for the letter. He held it out to her. "I—I'm to await your reply a-and return with your letter."

"Wonderful!" she cried, clapping her hands. Taking it from him, she pried open the seal, quickly immersing herself in it. For a while, the room was uncomfortably silent, but for the Cat's purring; Theodore's cheeks only reddened further. At last, the Duchess put down the letter, giving a happy sigh.

"Oh, it's so lovely to hear from my cousin again. I'll write a reply right away! In the meantime, you can get started on the luncheon—cook! Bring luncheon, cook!"

Nothing happened for a long moment; then an aged woman appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray with a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. She gave a surly grumble as she set it down; the Duchess appeared not to notice. The Rabbit suppressed a sneeze; the old woman smelled strongly of pepper.

"Lovely," the Duchess said once the cook had left, gracefully sweeping to her feet. "Now, you start on those sandwiches, dear—I shall return presently with writing implements." And with that, she glided out of the room.

Theodore occupied himself pouring lemonade until he was sure she was out of earshot, then abandoned all pretence and turned to the Cat, hissing, "What are you doing here?"

Raising himself off the pillows, the Cat stretched elegantly, muscles rippling, and got to his feet. "It entertains the woman to pretend I'm her pet," he said with a grin. "I come by every now and then when I'm bored—she treats me like a prince. Look," he said, gesturing at another dish next to the sandwiches that Theodore hadn't noticed. It was a bowl of cream. Smiling, the Cat picked it up, lifting it to his lips to drink. Theodore could see the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. Trying to distract himself, he picked up a sandwich—even though he couldn't stand the idea of eating meat, it wouldn't do to offend the Duchess.

"I wouldn't advise eating that," the Cat said, just as he was about to take a bite.

"Why not?" Theodore said, lowering it; as infuriating as the Cat was, he was still much more trustworthy than the Duchess. "Is the old woman a bad cook?"

"No, not really," the Cat mused, "though a bit over-fond of pepper for my taste. No, you don't want to eat it because the meat in that sandwich is human."

Theodore dropped it. "W-what?"

"Well, I suppose it's not exactly human," the Cat said pleasantly, sitting cross-legged with his bowl of cream held in both hands. "The Duchess is a fertile woman, and she's had several children already—but she doesn't want to risk that her child will take over her estate, so she has the cook turn them into pigs."

Theodore gaped at him. "But that's barbaric—"

"She's never been the most pleasant of people. Besides, she'd make a terrible mother."

Wide-eyed, Theodore stared at his fallen sandwich.

"Anyway, that's why I'd advise just leaving it."

Theodore looked up at him, opening his mouth to reply, but was cut short by the Duchess's return. Quickly closing his mouth, he picked up a glass of lemonade, sipping at it nervously as she sat down, busily setting herself up to write a letter.

"I won't be a moment, dear, and then you can be on your way. Enjoying the luncheon?" she said, daintily picking up a sandwich. Theodore stared in horror at her hand as she put it to her mouth, taking a satisfied bite.

"Oh, ah, y-yes—yes, very good," he stammered. "I—I don't think I c-can eat anymore—I've had plenty."

"Of course, of course," the Duchess said, swallowing, never noticing that the plate remained untouched. "You just sit tight and sip your lemonade, I won't be a minute—" And with that, she busily began writing, pausing only to take elegant bites of first one sandwich, then the next, then a third. Theodore found himself unable to look away.

"There," she said finally, picking up her letter and shaking it gently to make sure it was dry. "You just scurry along and deliver this into the hand of her Majesty," she instructed, folding the letter up and slipping it back into the Queen's envelope. Theodore nodded, shaking, and took the letter, jumping to his feet.

Just as he was about to dart out the door, however, she called him back. "I wonder, dear, if you could do me one more little favour?" she simpered. Unwillingly, Theodore turned back.

"Yes, your grace?"

"Would you return this to the March Hare for me, darling?" she asked, pulling an elegant handkerchief out of her bosom. "He left it here the night before last."

Fighting back a grimace of revulsion, Theodore quickly shook his head. There was no way he was going anywhere near the March Hare, that overstuffed, pompous, self-serving swine—

"I'm sorry, your grace, but I really have to get back to the Palace—I don't have time for detours, or else I'd take it gladly," he said blithely. Gladly? No, not even then.

"Oh, please. Do be a dear," she pleaded, her lips making a moue.

"I apologize, your grace, but I really can't—"

"Just take it, you ungrateful little wretch!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet; suddenly she was furious again, her face heating up like a boiled lobster. Frightened, Theodore jumped back, shaking.

"I, I—I r-really c-can't, your grace—I apologize—"

"Oh no?" she screamed, advancing on him, her fist raised to strike.

Then, without warning, the Cat, who had until that moment been quietly sitting out of the way and drinking his cream, stepped out of nowhere, plucking the handkerchief from her grasp. Surprised, she immediately turned, fury draining out of her face. Giving her a pleasant smile, he slipped his arm around Theodore's waist, and an instant later, they were gone.


	3. Among Mad People

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Three: **Among Mad People**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

"Here," Chesh said, holding out the March Hare's handkerchief. Theodore stared at it, dumbfounded; he hadn't even noticed the Cat picking it up. Shaking his head, he took a step back—and only then noticed that they had appeared in front of the entrance to the Tea Party.

"Oh no. I am not going in there. Give it back to him yourself," he snapped, turning away. "I have to get back to the Palace."

"Oh, come on," Chesh said. "After I went to all that trouble, too—just take it and walk in. At least with them you're not in danger."

"No!" Theodore yelled. "I _hate_ him! That pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed—"

"Sickening, cruel, selfish, petty jackass. I know. You think I don't feel the same way?" There was a long pause, and the Cat sighed. "Come on—just take it back. I'll go in with you, and then I can give you a lift to the Palace."

"Not worth it," Theodore grated through clenched teeth.

Chesh raised an eyebrow. "No? The Duchess is bound to ask him about it next time he comes over. What do you think would happen to you if she heard he'd never got it back?"

Theodore whirled on him. "You wouldn't—" One look at Chesh's face stopped him dead in his tracks. "You would. Oh... oh dear..."

"It's not personal. I don't want to go in there any more than you do. If you come with me..." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Oh," Theodore said, understanding. "You don't want to go alone."

"Bang on. Here," he said, once again holding the handkerchief out to Theodore. The Rabbit stared at it, revolted.

"Do I have to touch that?" he pleaded. "You saw where it was—and it's the _Hare's_—"

"She asked you to bring it back," the Cat said quietly. "She's unstable enough that she might explode if she found out it was me who gave it to him—even if you were with me," he added.

Giving the piece of fabric in question a distasteful look, the Rabbit reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pair of elegant men's gloves. Chesh raised an eyebrow.

"I refuse to allow that disgusting piece of refuse to make contact with my skin," Theodore said, glaring at it as he slid them on. Chesh just rolled his eyes, grinning, and tossed it to him. Theodore caught the handkerchief with a grimace. It smelled like something floral and rotten; he wasn't sure if it was the Duchess's perfume or the Hare's cologne, and neither thought appealed to him.

"It's sickening to think that they—they're—"

"Fucking. Yeah." The Cat gave a dry laugh, swinging the gate open. "Believe me, I make sure I'm _far_ away on the nights he comes over."

Theodore was silent, biting back the urge to retch.

"Come on," Chesh said, swinging open the gate. "Let's get this over with."

The Mad Tea Party was laid out on a banquet-sized table in the March Hare's garden. Though there were literally dozens of seats, only three were ever occupied—but the food never seemed to go bad and the tea never got cold, no matter which seats they were in this week. The Mad Hatter had always had problems with time.

The Hatter in question was sitting with the March Hare and the Dormouse about two thirds of the way down the table, drinking out of an ornate peacock blue teacup. When he saw the Cat and the Rabbit approaching—the latter considerably more reluctantly than the former—his innocent face spread into a wide grin. The Hare, however, sniffed condescendingly and got to his feet, looking down his nose at them.

"Don't be ridiculous. Can't you see there's no room?"

"No room," the Dormouse mumbled in his sleep.

"That's absurd," Theodore snapped before the Cat could reply. "There's plenty of room. Look at all the empty space."

The Hare sniffed again. "There's no room for _you_," he said.

"That's fine," Chesh cut in, arms folded across his chest, watching the Hare with his head tilted slightly to the side, expression curiously blank. "We just came to return some lost property."

"Oh, no, no!" the Mad Hatter interrupted, getting to his feet. He was smiling widely and there was a slightly dazed twinkle in his bright green eyes. "We can't have that! You simply must stay for tea. This is a Tea Party, after all."

"We just came to give something back to the Hare," Theodore said, shooting the Hare in question a poisonous glare. He loftily ignored it.

"Oh, but you simply must stay for a cup," the Hatter pleaded, gesturing around the table at the wide array of assorted teatime paraphernalia. "Only a few minutes. It _is_ tea time."

"But it's scarcely past noon—" Theodore began. Chesh cut him off with an urgent gesture.

"Of course we'll stay," the Cat said, overriding the suddenly mute Theodore. His voice was considerably warmer than it had been when he spoke to the March Hare. "But not for long. We have somewhere to be."

"Certainly, certainly!" the Hatter said expansively, beaming, sitting back down. The Hare resumed his seat next to him; Chesh and Theodore were left to find their own places among the teapots and sugar bowls.

"Chesh, what are you doing?" Theodore hissed under his breath as they sat down. "I thought we were just giving the handkerchief back! We shouldn't have to stay, it's not tea time, and I don't see why you stopped me from saying that—"

"Play along for the Hatter's sake," Chesh whispered back, draping himself over the tabletop. "I'll explain later, I promise, just, please, follow my lead."

Bewildered, Theodore sat back, looking over the Tea Party. He had never spent much time with the Mad Hatter; since making the March Hare's acquaintance years back, he had done his best to avoid him utterly, and as the Hare was always with the Hatter, that meant avoiding him as well. It was really all for the best: the Hatter was obviously, if harmlessly, completely mad, and Theodore never knew what to say on the odd occasion that they did interact. Now was no different. Having the March Hare casting suspicious and hostile glares at both himself and the Cheshire Cat wasn't helping matters.

Chesh, however, seemed to suffer from no such misgivings. Cheerfully ignoring the Hare, he poured tea for both himself and the Rabbit, dropping two sugar cubes and a splash of cream into the drink he passed to Theodore. The Rabbit took it, only dimly surprised that Chesh knew how he took his tea. The Cat, he noted absently, drank his tea with so much cream that it was almost white, but no sugar.

Giving and approving nod, the Hatter opened the conversation. "Wonderful. I do hope you enjoy your tea. It's so nice to have friends drop in for a visit."

"I'm afraid we're not here for a visit," the Cat said apologetically before Theodore could comment.

"Oh," the Hatter said, wilting a bit. "Business, then?"

"I'm afraid so," Chesh admitted. "Though that's not to say we're not your friends."

Across the table, the Hare sniffed condescendingly. Theodore shot him a dark glare.

"Quite," the Rabbit added. "Though the same need not be said of him." The March Hare's only reaction was a superior smile.

"Now, please," the Hatter protested. "There's no reason for animosity! We're all good company here!"

"Some better than others," the Hare muttered, flicking his eyes at Chesh.

Theodore bristled, glancing at the Cat to see his reaction, but, strangely, he didn't appear affected by the comment. In fact, his face had returned to that same carefully held blankness it had shown when he had addressed the Hare previously.

"I suppose you might say that," he said, turning away from him indifferently, putting only the very faintest stress on the word _you_. He picked up his teacup, sipping elegantly, as if perfectly unconcerned. Theodore tore his eyes away from Chesh's lips to sneak a glance at the Hare. His eyes widened in surprise; the normally perfectly poised Hare was flushed with suppressed fury.

Chesh distracted Theodore from his confused contemplation of the Hare's emotional state by setting his teacup down. "So—to business, then?"

"Oh—oh, yes!" the Hatter said, eagerly seizing on the change of subject. "What did you come for?"

"We're returning something of the Hare's," Chesh reminded him gently. He nodded to Theodore. Fighting back a grimace of distaste, Theodore rose to his feet.

"I had stopped by the Duchess's on an errand when she requested that I return this," he said, voice frosted over with politeness, as he removed the folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket. "If I may say so, I think it needs washing," he put in delicately, handing it over to the March Hare.

The Hare took it with a disdainful sniff. "What right have you got to comment?" he asked rudely. Theodore bristled.

"As much right as anyone!" he shot back. "The least you could do is be grateful I returned it!"

"I have no need to be grateful to low-bred swine such as _you_," the Hare spat, rising to his feet.

"Now, please—" the Hatter pleased frantically, wringing his hands. "My dear sirs—Harlan, Mr. Rabbit, there's no need to argue, please—"

"There's no need for him to be so rude!" retorted Theodore, standing up angrily.

"Theo, don't—" Chesh began, but it was already too late; the Hatter had snapped.

"If we can't all sit and have a nice tea like civilized people, I will stitch all of your lips shut!" he shrieked, jumping to his feet. His already flushed face had taken on a dangerously purple hue. With a squeak, the Dormouse awoke, toppling from his chair. Immediately, Theodore shrank back. Unnoticed, the Cat rose to his feet, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Just give him a moment," he murmured.

"There's no need for that, please," the Hare was saying, trying to calm the Hatter. He was having no success.

"Oh, shut up, Harlan!" the Hatter snapped, spittle flying from his lips. "You're as much to blame as anyone!"

"You're just over-stressed," the Hare continued. "The excitement of company. Calm down, please—"

"Don't you tell me what to do—"

"We need clean cups. Let's move down," the Hare interrupted, changing tactics.

And just like that, the Hatter calmed. "Oh, of course," he said, shaking his head out. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. What was I angry about?"

"It doesn't matter," the Hare reassured him. He turned to Chesh and the Rabbit, his eyes going hard. "I think you should go."

"Quite right," the Cat said blankly, turning around. "Let's go, Theodore," he added, putting a hand lightly on his back. The Cat was trembling almost imperceptibly. Theodore glanced at him in surprise; his eyes were hard with rage.

"Goodbye!" the Hatter called after them as Chesh led Theodore out of the garden. "Come again soon!"

Theodore glanced at the Cat; Chesh's throat tightened sharply. He didn't speak until the garden gate had closed behind them; when he did, Theodore almost missed his quiet words.

"Goodbye, Benjamin..."

Startled, the Rabbit stared at him, wide-eyed. Chesh caught his look, but didn't offer any explanation. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll take you back to the Palace."

Theodore could only nod, taking his hand and tucking close against the Cat's comforting warmth as the world melted and faded around them.

* * *

After that, Theodore got used to the Cat appearing outside his house every morning. Sometimes, if he'd been caught up with cleaning or had a late start, the Cat would simply drop him off at the Palace; more often, they would walk along Theodore's normal route, talking away the morning. It was on one of these mornings that the Rabbit finally worked up the courage to ask about the events that had transpired at the Mad Tea Party.

"Chesh?" Theodore started that morning as they headed off into the Wood; by that point he had become quite comfortable with addressing the Cat by his personally-declared name. "What happened that day, at the Tea Party...?"

Chesh was silent for a moment. "I suppose I did say I'd give you an explanation," he said finally. "You're wondering about Benjamin, aren't you?"

Theodore nodded wordlessly, hardly even daring to speak the name himself. In Wonderland, it was customary never to address one of the denizens—Wonderland's unofficial nobility—by their real names unless they had introduced themselves to you. The ordinary folk, those who lived in the villages on the fringes of the realm, weren't so formal, but those who lived in the central regions had their own peculiar customs—perhaps originating out of the respect owed to them for their individuality and power. Theodore was on the bottom rung of power as far as denizens were concerned, reflected by his residence on the outskirts of the central area; the Mad Hatter, surrounded by the Tulgey Wood, was surpassed only by the King and Queen of Hearts, and, of course, the Cheshire Cat.

Theodore's question had knocked the Cat's usual good humour out of him. Dropping down to the ground from hovering cross-legged in the air, he tucked his hands into his pockets, looking down in thought. Finally, he spoke; his voice was quiet.

"Benjamin... the Mad Hatter... was... the closest friend I ever had."

The Rabbit blinked. "Your friend? But—he didn't seem..." He trailed off, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

"I know. We didn't seem to be close at all, did we? I didn't even use his name."

Theodore bit his lip, then nodded.

The Cat sighed softly. "I knew him years ago... things were different then."

Theodore frowned. "Different?" He wasn't sure what to make of that concept. Though years passed in Wonderland, nothing ever really seemed to change. It seemed to him that he had always been the age he was now. If he thought back, he was pretty sure he had dim memories of his childhood—but when he tried to fit a face to any of the people in his imagination, he came up with nothing.

"I know," Chesh said. "Things don't change here. At least, that's the way it appears. But we're not locked in stasis. _People_ can change—and they can be destroyed."

Theodore said nothing, not sure how to react. The Cat hardly noticed—he was lost in his own memories.

"I asked you to take tea with them for his sake. You remember how he thought it was tea time at noon?" he asked, glancing at the Rabbit for confirmation. "He had a quarrel with Time a while back. Around him, time doesn't move. His watch is always stuck at half past four—and the fact of the matter is, he never remembers. He has absolutely no short-term memory."

"Oh...," Theodore said softly. "It's a—a symptom of his madness?"

"He's not mad!" the Cat said sharply, looking up at him.

"But you said—"

"That everyone in Wonderland is mad, yes, I know. Didn't I tell you already that it was a joke? No one is mad here."

That startled Theodore. "But—but everyone's so—"

"_No one_ is mad here," the Cat repeated.

"But the Queen—the Duchess—"

"Are not mad. That's something different," Chesh said. His voice was tight.

Theodore was about to open his mouth to ask, but something in the Cat's eyes warned him off. He was silent for a moment, then, tentatively, returned to their original subject.

"So... the Hatter is...?

"He has an illness," the Cat said, "brought on by exposure to toxic chemicals. Mercury poisoning."

Theodore's eyes widened, sucking in a small gasp of comprehension. "Oh. So he... he's..."

"He's very sick," the Cat said quietly. "God, if you could have seen him in his younger days... he had such a sharp wit—he was just brimming with ideas. He had always been strange, but never mad—a brilliant eccentric. He never had to fight to cope with Wonderland. He coexisted perfectly... just like me."

Unable to speak in the face of the Cat's grief, Theodore said nothing, watching him silently, his heart breaking in pity.

"We first met at one of the Queen's balls," the Cat said quietly. "I'll admit, at first, the only thing that drew me to him was his body—he was fucking gorgeous. I had him in bed within the hour."

Theodore choked. "What?"

Chesh sighed. "Don't be like that. It was years ago. He was easy to flirt with and it was fun."

Not trusting himself to speak, Theodore turned away, cheeks flushing darkly. He would never admit that the first emotion that had flashed through his heart was a fierce jealousy.

"It's just the way I am, Theo," the Cat said quietly. "It was a style of friendship that suited us both. When we first met, that was all we cared about—but then I discovered his intellect and we found so much in common... We'd talk for hours, some days, about everything we could think of... philosophy, politics, science, art... Sometimes we'd tell stories until the middle of the night, and, yes, sometimes we slept together. We were great friends for years. The March Hare, though... well." The Cat let out a dry chuckle. "He hated it."

Against his will, the Rabbit found himself listening. "Is that why he hates you so much?" he asked quietly.

The Cat chuckled again. "He's incredibly jealous of me. You see, he's been friends with Benjamin since Wonderland began—but every time he's tried to progress farther with their relationship, he's been rebuffed."

Theodore blinked. "You mean they've never—"

"No. The Hare has never managed to convince him. Benjamin told me about it all those years ago—he saw the Hare as such a close friend that he was almost a brother—whereas I'd slept with him first, _then_ become his friend. It has caused the Hare no end of frustration. You see, the Hare is the sort of person who demands an absolute emotion from all those around him—be it hatred or love."

"So it's not enough for him to be friends with the Hatter?" Theodore asked.

"No," Chesh said. "He wants you to utterly despise him or be completely in love with him. Either way, it becomes an obsession—and it puts him in your attention."

"That's why you were acting so indifferent to him!" Theodore said suddenly.

"Exactly," Chesh said, nodding. "Nothing makes him angrier than not being able to have an effect on you. If you scream at him, he just smiles smugly—but if you pretend he's invisible, he'll be steaming in under thirty seconds." The Cat let out a sigh, suddenly downcast again. "Pissing him off is the only small revenge I can have against him now..."

"What happened?" Theodore asked quietly.

"Benjamin became ill," Chesh said simply. "He started to lose control of his mind... then his memories started to go. It was heartbreaking—he knew exactly what was happening. We stayed friends for some time, but every day it got harder for him to keep up a coherent conversation... and then one day, he just... forgot about me."

Theodore's eyes widened in horror. "F-forgot...?"

"That was the end of our friendship. I still went to visit him, but he couldn't remember anything from day to day. As time went by, he withdrew, getting more and more reclusive, clinging to the few things he still knew—and at last, all that was left was his oldest friend—the Hare."

Theodore met his eyes, overflowing with pity and sympathy. The Cat held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, speaking in a low voice to keep himself under control. "The Hare moved him into his own home to look after him. He's always loved controlling people—that's why he wants them obsessed with him. Now he had the ultimate control over someone. It's disgusting, what he's done to him—he's turned him into his little pet."

The Rabbit choked. "You—you mean like—"

"No. That's the only small consolation I get—Benjamin is still lucid enough that he won't let the Hare fuck him. But I don't know how long that will last..." He shrugged helplessly. "There's nothing I can do to help him. The Hare won't do anything to help Benjamin remember; I haven't been alone with him since the day he forgot me. Just like that, I lost him completely."

"Chesh, I—I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Chesh said. "It's not your fault. Someday, though—someday I'm going to make the Hare pay."

* * *

It was hard for Theodore to keep his mind on his work that day—a bad situation to be in on the best of days, and especially bad on that particular one. The Queen—or, rather, the King on the Queen's behalf—had decided to hold audiences that day, and needed their messenger boy-cum-herald at court to announce their supplicants and keep procedure. They would have been better off asking someone else; all day, the Rabbit was a bundle of nerves, dropping his scrolls, reading the letters upside down, mixing up names and titles, fumbling over simple words. Within the half hour, the King was tapping his ever-twitching fingers against the seat in impatience; even the dreamy Queen had begun to take an unfavourable notice.

"I-if it p-please your Majesties, the next sup-p-plicant is Mr. D-Dodo, who has travelled from the shores of the, the Pool of T-Tears for an audience today—"

"Speak up, Darwin," the King snapped for the third time.

"Y-yes Sir, I mean, your Majesty, I—I—"

"And for god's sake, man, stop stuttering!"

Trembling under the King's gaze, the Rabbit could only stammer and shake. Oh, god, he needed his pocket watch—

"There, there," said the Dodo, coming up behind him and slapping him strongly on the shoulder; Theodore's knees buckled under what he assumed was meant to be a comforting pat.

"Yes, Mr. Dodo, what is your matter today?" the King said wearily.

"Your Majesties, I have sought an audience with you over a manner of the gravest importance to the loyal citizens of Wonderland. It has recently come to my attention that the common, that is to say, the ordinary townsfolk, for of course there is nothing common about the citizens of your great realm..."

Try as he might, Theodore couldn't keep his mind on what the Dodo was saying. He has always been something of a long-winded bird, and the Rabbit had much on his mind that morning—not least of which was the monarchs' current mood. The Queen was looking unusually lucid, her hot brown eyes fixed on him.

"Mr. Rabbit? Excuse me, Mr. Rabbit?"

"Darwin!" barked the King. Theodore jumped.

"Oh, ah—yes, your Majesty—the proclamation, of course, I'll—right away—" he stammered, fumbling around in his waistcoat for the scroll—he'd had it only a moment ago—

"Not the proclamation, Darwin, the _letter_!" the King snapped.

"The—the—the—" Theodore looked around in confusion. The Dodo helpfully offered him a letter.

"My suit?" he reminded the bewildered Rabbit.

"Oh—oh, of course! My apologies," Theodore said, taking it from him and turning towards the throne.

"There you go," the Dodo said kindly. "You just deliver that right into the hand of her Majesty."

Theodore swallowed hard. Both King and Queen had their eyes on him.

Steeling himself, he made his way towards them, trembling as he bowed at their feet. Maybe he'd get lucky—maybe they'd let him go for the day.

He almost snorted. And maybe the Cheshire Cat would one day stop being incomprehensible.

He rose to his feet, handing the letter to the Queen. "Your Majesty," he murmured politely, hoping she'd be taken by it and he'd get off lightly.

No such luck.

Without warning, her face split into a wide grin and her hand snaked out, catching him roughly by the throat. "Oh, how lovely," she sing-songed dreamily. "I've caught a little rabbit. We'll have rabbit stew tonight... I'll just twist off his head... off with his head, darling, off with his head!"

Gasping for air, Theodore shook his head violently. "No—your Majesty, please—"

"Such a lovely little rabbit... you'll be so lovely with your insides dripping out..."

"Sire, please—" Theodore choked, turning his eyes to the King.

"Now, dear," the King said calmly, as if this were an ordinary morning in court. "Come now, leave him."

"No!" the Queen shrieked suddenly, jumping to her feet. Throwing the Rabbit to the floor, she whirled on a startled guard, yanking his sword from his sheath. In a moment, she had turned back to him, sending the sword swinging down in a wide, clumsy arc. Theodore rolled out of the way, scrambling back in terror as more guards poured in at the sound of the Queen's scream, trying to subdue her. In moments, they were in disarray, blood streaming as their unstable Queen hacked and slashed, her face spreading wide in maniacal laughter.

"Off with their heads! Off with their heads! Off with everybody's heads!"

The supplicants scattered. The King slowly got to his feet. Theodore, wide-eyed, crawled away, scrambling up into a run. And as the Rabbit turned and fled, he heard the King's voice behind him, distantly: "She was about due for another episode anyway..."

* * *

Theodore had barely made it to the outside the throne room when the Cheshire Cat appeared beside him, his expression murderous.

"Theo, let's go, hold on," he ordered, grabbing the Rabbit's hand and pulling him close. Unthinking, Theodore clung to him; they vanished from the hall just as the door burst open, the carnage spilling into the main Palace. The Rabbit buried his face in the Cat's chest, hiding from the sounds of violence as the noise became misty and silent around them. Then he felt the heaviness of reality and when he opened his eyes, they were in front of his own house.

"You're going to be okay?" Chesh said, letting him go. Theodore was distracted by the loss of the Cat's warm arms.

"Where are you going?" he cried, panicked. He couldn't go, not now, not when the Rabbit was in such a state—

"Back to the Palace," Chesh said grimly. "I've let that situation go far too long. It's time I did something about them."

"You've let the—Chesh, what—" Desperate, the Rabbit snatched at his hands, trying to pull him close.

"_Please_, Theo, I have to go! I promise you, you're safe here—I'll be back as soon as I can, I swear, but I have to go!" And then, without another word, he pulled his hands from Theodore's grip, vanishing without so much as a flicker, leaving Theodore trembling and alone on his front step.

He stood there, shivering, gasping for breath as his shaking grew worse, and dimly he realized that this was more than his usual nervous temperament. Almost choking on the sudden fear that welled up in his throat, he spun on his heel, frantically throwing the door open and fleeing inside. Panicking, he fumbled in his pocket, desperately looking for his watch; when he finally found it, he almost dropped it, and he clutched at it frantically until he had it safe in his hands. Fingers clumsy as he stumbled through the house towards his bedroom, he flipped it open, needing that calming watch face as he frantically pleaded, _please no, god no, please don't—_

He collapsed on the floor of his bedroom, hands shaking as he held his pocket watch—but the second hand was moving so fast, it was so dizzying, and his heartbeat was thumping three times as fast as the tiny clock hand—he was staring at it, willing it to calm him, desperately counting the seconds, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, but his vision was getting blurry and he couldn't hold on any longer—

The watch slipped from his fingers with a dull thump as the world around him grew fuzzy and numb. Shaking and crying, he just managed to curl into a ball before his body was wracked with spasms—then, overwhelmed by an uncontrollable panic, he gasped in air, screaming and screaming until he imagined he could feel his throat tearing itself up. As he felt his tenuous grasp on the world fade out while he sobbed and trembled on the floor, he heard his thoughts echoing dimly with a surprising clearness, reminding him, _the attacks don't last, just ride it out..._

_Panic attacks don't last..._


	4. We're All Mad

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Four: **We're All Mad**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

The riot hadn't calmed at all when Chesh reappeared in the hallway; terrified servants were fleeing or hiding, unstable and blood-drunk soldiers were wrestling back and forth, swinging weapons at each other while the more sensible among them tried to get away, and the Queen was picking up discarded swords and axes at random, chopping at her guards and still shrieking, "Off with their heads! Off with everyone's heads!" The King was watching from the throne room doorway, an unfathomable expression in his eyes as he watched his wife bathe the room in blood.

Chesh, however, paid the danger no mind. As he stalked through the crowds, battling soldiers parted for him, almost forced aside by an invisible presence. Whenever anyone took a swing at him, their weapon clattered to the floor, and they stared in surprise as they tried to figure out how it had got there. He didn't stop moving until he was face to face with the Queen, all of her soldiers having scurried back out of his way. Spotting a new victim, a wide grin broke across her blood-splattered face, and she raised her axe high above her head to bring it down on him. He didn't move.

Many soldiers thought he was done for that morning, but they were mistaken. Something peculiar happened. Rather than slice into him, the axe bounced off several inches shy of his body, and went spinning off down the hall as if thrown violently. The entire room was suddenly silent as the weapon clattered to the floor with a shriek of metal on stone. The Queen stared at him, dumbstruck. He still hadn't moved.

It was the King's voice that broke the silence. "What magic is this?" he snarled, stalking forward.

"No magic," the Cat said, level voice clearly ringing through the hallway. "But it likes me, you see. It won't allow me to be hurt. _Leave her_," he snapped, as the King made a move to support his Queen. With her weapon ripped from her grasp, her rage had deserted her, and she was beginning to show signs of dizziness.

"If you've done something to her—"

"Are you threatening me, Galen?"

The effect of these simple words on the King was extraordinary. He tensed, suddenly wary, and took an unconscious step back from the Cat. There was real emotion showing on his face for the first time, and it was fear.

"How do you know that name?" he hissed.

"I know whatever name I want to."

"I've never told you—who _are_ you? I feel... I've seen you before, but..." Suddenly at a loss, he trailed off, watching the Cat with a new uncertainty.

"I think you'll find," Chesh said quietly, "that you know me very well, Galen." Slowly, he reached out, stepping forward; the King, shaken and unable to move, simply stared at him. Very gently, the Cat touched the tips of two fingers to his forehead—and then the world broke.

_Something vast—incomprehensibly vast—a universe, more than a universe, every idea ever put into thought—_

Gasping, the King tore himself away from the Cat's touch; Chesh continued to watch him, his expression blank, calm. Shaking at what he had just experienced, the King sank to his knees. Beside him, the Queen continued gently swaying.

"Listen to me carefully," the Cat said, sinking into a crouch to look into the King's face. "I've been content to give you free reign over Wonderland. I've been content to let you live out your life in your own depravity, as long as it never got out of hand. What you've done has disgusted me, certainly—but it was always contained. I thought it was best to just leave you to your own devices.

"Now, though," Chesh continued, his violet eyes suddenly blazing with fury, "now you've taken it too far. You've fallen prey to a trap of your own making. You've let _her_—" and here he jerked his head at the dazed, distant Queen, "—escape your control, and start wreaking havoc beyond your walls—"

"There's nothing wrong with her," the King whimpered, his voice strangled. "She gets a little violent sometimes, but what does it matter if she hurts someone, they're all replaceable—"

The Cat's fist came out of nowhere, knocking him back and leaving a throbbing pain in his jaw.

"I told you to listen to me," Chesh said, almost pleasantly, standing up to look down on the now-cowering King. "As I said, you've let her get out of control—and instead of trying to help her, you've enabled her. You sicken me," he spat, "using her instability and the power you have over her to inflate your own sense of self-worth. I've had enough of it. Letting her make a mess of your own people is one thing—but letting her hurt my Theodore is entirely another."

Almost panicking now, the King scrambled back as the Cat stepped forward, catching him easily by the collar and dragging him to his feet. He was smiling, fangs clearly showing in his unnaturally wide grin.

"So, since I've had enough," the Cat continued, "I'm going to do something about it."

"P-please—please have mercy—" the King choked out, clutching weakly at Chesh's wrist. The Cat looked down at him in disgust, shaking him off. Once again, the King collapsed to his knees. Chesh turned away from him, looking around at the silent assembly.

"The Palace is going into stasis," he said, raising his voice until it once again rang around the hallway. "Anyone who has never been caught under the Queen's axe is free to go. Find the rest of the servant and guards and let them know. I suggest you find temporary homes elsewhere until I'm finished here—the farther from the centre of Wonderland, the better." His eyes went hard, sweeping over the crowd, landing unerringly on those soldiers who had been gleefully aiding the Queen in her bloodshed. "The rest of you—anyone who has ever been reanimated or been part of the King's experiments—are to remain here. Do not try to leave. Trust me—I will know if you do. Return to your rooms and stay there until the rest of the Palace has been cleared. _Go_."

Around him, there was a flurry of activity, but he paid it no mind. He looked down, turning that cold gaze on the King and Queen of Hearts. "You too. Get going."

And with that, he vanished, leaving them behind—the King staring after him in terror for the first time in his life, and the Queen, just as dreamy and dazed as ever as she slowly crumpled to the floor.

* * *

When Theodore awoke the next morning, he found himself curled up in a cramped ball at the foot of his bed. His pocket watch was lying a few feet away from him on the floor; fingers stiff and clumsy, he reached for it, frantically checking for damage. It was safe—and only half past six. Painfully, he pulled himself to his feet, wincing at his unresponsive muscles, noting with a vague distaste that he was still in his clothes from yesterday. Well, he thought. A bath was certainly in order.

The bath water was warm, and he almost fell asleep. Unwilling to allow himself the luxury of rest, however, he pushed forward, dragging his tired body back to his bedroom to change into clean clothes. He couldn't afford to be late, not after the fiasco of yesterday, or he'd risk punishment—so, still stumbling tiredly, he made his way down to his kitchen, busying himself with making tea, toast, porridge, anything to keep him from thinking about the day before, and his own attack, and the panic that was threatening to engulf him at the though of either.

Chesh was waiting for him outside, as usual. For the first time that morning, Theodore stopped dead. Hadn't Chesh said he'd be back? Hadn't he promised? Where had he been last night, when Theodore had been curled up on the floor of his room, sobbing? Had he even cared?

How could he just expect to show up the next morning and for everything to go back to normal when he hadn't been there when Theodore had needed him? How could he just stand there so calmly when he had all but abandoned him the night before? Fighting back the overwhelming urge to break into tears, Theodore moved down his front steps and along the garden path towards the Cat, almost trembling. He has no idea if he wanted to collapse in his arms or just stalk right past him.

Chesh, however, allowed him neither. As soon as the Rabbit had reached the gate, he stepped forward, stopping a respectful distance in front of him. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, violet eyes searching Theodore's face. The Rabbit's mood must have been there, easily read in his expression. Rather than face that knowing gaze, he turned away.

"I'm fine," he said shortly. His voice didn't sound convincing even to himself.

"Really," Chesh said, in a tone that implied he hadn't been fooled at all.

"Yes," Theodore replied. His voice hadn't steadied itself at all.

The Cat sighed. "Don't lie to me, Theo, I know when you're upset."

Theodore bristled. "I told you to stop calling me that!" he snapped, turning back to glare at him. "I said I'm _fine_! I don't have time for this, Cat! I have to get to the Palace!"

"Ah. Yes. That," said Chesh. And suddenly, without reason, his voice was amused.

"Don't laugh! I'm serious, Cat—I have to go!"

"Hm, yes, well," the Cat said, still amused. "I'm afraid there's been a bit of a rearrangement of schedules. You're not going to the Palace today."

That stopped Theodore dead. "I—I what?" He shook his head, bewildered. "But—no—I have to go, I always go to the Palace—"

"You're not going to the Palace today," Chesh repeated. "Nor are you going at any point in the foreseeable future. The Palace has been, ah—temporarily locked down. No one is going in—and no one is coming out—for quite some time."

In the midst of his confused gaping at the Cat, it occurred to Theodore to wonder what the blasted creature had done.

"So, up until everything is sorted out and the Palace is opened up again," Chesh continued cheerfully, "you're on something of an extended holiday, I suppose. Suffice to say no one is expecting you anywhere."

"I—but—th-the—the King—"

"Is otherwise occupied at the moment," Chesh said calmly. "As are the Queen and about half of their soldiers. No one," he added, "Is expecting you anywhere."

Theodore just shook his head, uncomprehending.

Chesh sighed. "Look, Theodore, you know how dangerous it was, going there every day. The King and Queen are both very nasty and badly in need of my help—and while I'm sorting them out, no one is going in or out of the Palace. There's no reason for you to bother, anyway—they're in no condition to give you orders."

Only one part of that had stuck in Theodore's mind. "While _you're_ sorting—"

"I'm the only one who can," Chesh said quietly.

"But—but _how_—"

"Don't worry about the how. Suffice to say that I'm going to have a lot to do for the next little while. I had rather a busy day yesterday, getting everything set up. It was quite late when I'd finished."

Suddenly the reality of his situation crashed back in, and Theodore once again had to fight the urge to cry. He now knew why Chesh hadn't returned the night before, but he couldn't help feeling a little selfish. He had been scared. Wasn't he more important...?

"But you promised...," he whispered, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

Immediately catching the shift in his mood, Chesh was in front of him before the Rabbit had noticed him moving. "Hey, hey—Theo, what's wrong?" he said, gently tipping Theodore's head up to look at him. As soon as their eyes met, the tears Theodore had been desperately trying to hold back came spilling out over his cheeks. He couldn't pretend anymore.

"You promised," he sobbed, crumpling against the Cat's touch. Surprised, Chesh caught him against his chest, and Theodore clung to him, needing that comfort. "You said I'd be safe and you promised you'd come back, but you didn't and I was scared—and now you're going to go off again and leave me by myself so you can _sort out_ the King and Queen and I'll be all alone again—well, I don't care, I don't want you to go—"

"Theo, Theo, please—it's okay!" Chesh said quickly, stroking his hair in an effort to calm him. "Shh... it's okay... I'm not just going to run off and abandon you."

Theodore said nothing, still crying softly against his chest.

"Yes, I'll be busy for a while," Chesh continued. "But I'll make sure I come see you, I promise... and I'm not just leaving you on your own for no reason..."

"But I don't _care_ about the King and Queen, Chesh, I just want—"

"Shh... it's okay. I know. But please, trust me—I need to do this."

"Why?" Even to his own ears, Theodore's voice sounded pitiful.

"Because it'll keep you safe," Chesh said simply. "That's all that matters to me right now. I know it might seem hard, but you're just going to have to believe me. Okay?"

Theodore hesitated. He didn't like it, but Chesh had never lied to him—and he'd seen him out of every tight spot he'd got himself into lately. He had come to rely on him—more than he'd ever relied on anyone before. So if Chesh said he was keeping him safe...

He nodded softly. "Okay."

He felt Chesh press a gentle kiss to his forehead. It occurred to him that he should shy away, but he was so comfortable in his arms... and so tired...

"I promise you," the Cat whispered. "Everything I'm doing right now is all to keep you safe..."

* * *

For the first few days of what he was coming to think of as his holiday, Theodore felt only relief. He could wake up whenever he wanted, have a relaxed morning, and do whatever he pleased for the whole day. He didn't have to go near the King or Queen, or walk through the Tulgey Wood, or talk with any of the denizens who made him nervous. It was something like bliss.

Of course, that only lasted a little while. By the time the week was out, he had grown thoroughly bored. It wasn't that he wanted to get back to work; it was just that without work to fill his days, he didn't know what to do with himself—and without the regular edge of fear he carried with him everywhere, he felt almost empty and restless. Once or twice he even found himself hoping it would come back, but he fought those urges back down every time. That was a mad sort of thing to think.

True to his word, Chesh didn't leave him on his own. He was there at Theodore's gate every morning, somehow contriving to appear just before he stepped out his front door and not a moment before. There were days when he seemed tired, but as he never mentioned it, Theodore took his lead and didn't say anything either. He would keep the Rabbit company throughout the day, talking with him and telling stories, until Theodore would return to his house for his evening meal, laid out every night like clockwork by the ever-surreptitious Mary Ann. At that point, no matter how politely Theodore invited him in for dinner, Chesh would take his leave, presumably off to carry out a night's work on the inhabitants of the Palace. More than once, it occurred to the Rabbit to wonder when he was sleeping, or even whether he was sleeping at all.

By the time three weeks had passed, Theodore had grown used to the even-present sense of restlessness; in fact, the only time when it seemed to recede was when he was talking with Chesh. He would lose himself in conversation, asking endless questions to keep the Cat talking, but no matter how many time he brought it up, Chesh would never tell him anything more about what was going on at the Palace. After another week, resigned, Theodore gave it up in favour of curiosity.

"Chesh, could you explain something for me?" he asked one morning as he and the Cat were wandering along the beach. Chesh, who seemed to be greatly enjoying digging his toes into the wet sand with every step, looked up, distracted.

"Hm?"

"Ugh. I don't understand how you can enjoy that," Theodore said, giving the sand a distasteful look. He was keeping his furry white feet well above the tide line. At least he could brush the dry sand off easily.

"It feels nice," Chesh said, shrugging. "What was it you were saying?"

"Oh, yes," Theodore said, drawing his thoughts back into order. "Why is it that you have an accent when no one else in Wonderland does?"

Unexpectedly, the Cat laughed. "Really, Theodore. I couldn't very well be the Cheshire Cat if I'd never been to Cheshire, now, could I?"

Theodore frowned. "Cheshire? That's a place?"

"Of course it is."

"But I've never heard of it," the Rabbit protested. "Where is it?"

"In England," the Cat said, suppressing laughter.

"England? Oh! You mean... outside?"

"Now you're getting it," Chesh said, approvingly.

"But what were you doing outside?" Theodore said, horrified. "It's not safe for us out there—and there's always a risk of pulling outsiders back with us—"

"I have a great deal of control over whether I bring anyone back with me, I assure you," the Cat said, still smiling. "It's not nearly so dangerous as you seem to think. I've been outside more times than I care to count. I go everywhere, Theodore."

The Rabbit remained unconvinced. "But if anyone sees you—"

"I can disguise myself."

"But—but how can you _stand_ it?" Theodore said, shaking his head. He was almost trembling at the thought of the outside world. "I hate going outside—it's terrifying!"

The look the Cat gave him was best described as perplexed. "What's so bad about it? You face more danger on a daily basis going to work than you ever would on the outside."

Theodore just stared at him, shaking his head again. He couldn't find the words to explain it.

The Cat's frown deepened. "You're really scared of it," he said softly. "I always thought you were just jumpy, but it's more than that, isn't it? You're scared of the outside, you're scared of your work, you're scared of the Wood, you're scared of dealing with people—is there _anywhere_ you feel safe?"

Theodore opened his mouth, about to protest, indignantly, that there certainly was—but the only place that jumped immediately to mind was in Chesh's arms, and, all things considered, that didn't seem to be the best sort of thing to mention. The distant memory of an almost stolen kiss floated to the top of his mind...

"My house," he said limply, when the pause had grown too long to be comfortable. "It—it's small and snug, and I know where everything is, and I can keep it tidy..." Theodore was rather fond of his house. Every room was neatly furnished, kept clean, and proudly displayed a prominent clock face.

"Your house," Chesh said flatly. "That's it? That's the only place in the world that you don't feel scared?"

"Well, I—I mean—everywhere is dangerous if you're not familiar with it," Theodore said, a touch defensively.

"Are you scared right now?"

Caught off guard, the Rabbit could only stare at him, wide-eyed.

"Are you joking?" the Cat said incredulously. "What the bloody hell is there to be scared of here, Theodore? For god's sake, it's just a _beach_."

"But anything could happen," Theodore said, stammering. "There could be a—a storm, or, or something could come up out of the water, or I might fall in and drown, or—or _anything_!"

Chesh was watching him evenly, eyes serious. "I have always thought," he said quietly, "that Wonderland's greatest charm lay in the fact that _anything_ could happen."

Wordless, Theodore just shook his head. The very idea of that was terrifying.

"So, you're scared of everywhere that isn't your house," the Cat summarized. "In other words, anywhere that isn't completely under your control. Doesn't that strike you as a bit... odd?"

"No," said Theodore, a touch defensively. Without being aware of it, he found his hand slipping into his waistcoat to close around his pocket watch. "It's sensible to be scared of things that could go wrong at any moment!"

"But most people aren't terrified to set foot outside their own front doors, Theodore!" Chesh snapped, exasperated. "And, more to the point, you _shouldn't_ be terrified to set foot outside your front door!"

"Yes, well, we can't all be as brave as you," the Rabbit said, shaking his head again. He needed his pocket watch...

"That's not what I _said_, Theodore! It's got nothing to do with me—"

"Just leave me alone, Cat!" Theodore cried, fumbling with his watch as he pulled it out of his pocket, fiddling urgently with the clasp. "You're only making it worse!"

"All right, all right, fine. I didn't mean to—what are you doing?" Chesh said suddenly, taking a step forward, frowning, as Theodore opened his pocket watch, gaze darting towards the watch face.

"I'm looking at my watch," he said, getting defensive again. "What does it look like I'm doing? You're making me nervous, and it's calming."

"Calming?" the Cat said incredulously. "Why the hell should it be calming? It's just a watch!"

Flinching slightly at the abrasive tone, Theodore just shrugged helplessly. "It—it just _is_. It keeps time so perfectly. It's even and steady and, and—it doesn't do anything unexpected!"

"Oh. I see," Chesh said quietly. "So, in other words, it's another manifestation of your fear of anything that isn't under control."

"No, it's not, it—"

"Yes, it is, Theodore," the Cat said firmly. "You like it because it's a perfect example of order. It makes you feel like you're still in control when everything around you is falling to pieces."

"Just stop it, Chesh!" the Rabbit cried, his voice rising. "Stop it, stop it—"

But the Cat continued on relentlessly. "But it doesn't actually matter, you know why? Because no matter how many times you check it or how evenly that second hand just keeps on ticking, it's not going to change a thing. It makes you feel better, but it doesn't solve your problems. It just makes you rely on it so you can trick yourself into believing that everything is okay."

"No, that's not true—stop it, just shut up!" Theodore sobbed, almost screaming now, shaking his head—he wasn't going to listen to this, he shouldn't have to listen to it—

"But it doesn't help anything. You know that, deep down. You just won't admit it—and by not admitting it, you're just making your fear worse, and making your reliance on that watch heavier, and running deeper and deeper into denial until one day your problems will swamp you like a tidal wave and your measly little defence won't hold any longer, all because you weren't willing to face your fear in the first place—"

"Enough, Cat! You just don't listen, do you?" the Rabbit cried, tears streaking down his face. "You just keep on going and going and you never stop—I swear, you're going to drive me—" Then Theodore choked. Eyes going wide, he slapped his hands over his mouth, pocket watch falling into the soft beach sand as he rocked back and forth, shaking, breathing heavily as he frantically tried to calm himself.

Chesh was watching him, eyes narrowed. "I'm going to drive you what?" he said finally, studying Theodore's face.

The Rabbit shook his head. "Nothing, it's nothing—I'm going home—"

"I'm going to drive you _what_, Theodore?" the Cat repeated, voice stronger. Theodore looked up, making the mistake of meeting his gaze. His violet eyes were hard, glittering like drawn blades as they bored into his face. There was no arguing with a gaze like that.

"You're going to drive me mad," Theodore whispered at last, closing his eyes. "It doesn't matter—I'm not mad, I'm not..."

The Cat was silent for a long time before he finally spoke again. "Oh. That's what you're really scared of..."

"I'm not going to go mad," Theodore said, voice still weak, opening his eyes. "I'm not."

Chesh took a deep breath. "We'll see...," he said softly. "The first thing you need to do is get over your dependence on the watch." And he started forward, moving towards where the watch now lay, half buried in the sand. Theodore got there first.

"I'm fine—really—" he protested, snatching it up from under the Cat's reaching fingers. Chesh just looked at him. Theodore looked away, fighting down shivers. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Can we please go home?"

For a moment, he thought the Cat was going to refuse; then his shoulders sagged in defeat and he stepped forwards, holding out his arms for Theodore. "All right."

Grateful, the Rabbit didn't say anything, tucking himself into the Cat's arms, clasping his watch to his chest. When they arrived in front of his front gate, he excused himself, hurrying inside. For the first time in almost a month, he didn't invite the Cat inside for dinner, and Chesh just disappeared without another word.

* * *

When Theodore awoke the next morning, it took him a few moments to remember why he felt so distraught; then he remembered his conversation with the Cat the day before and how it had ended with him in tears, protesting that he wasn't going to go mad. At that point, he seriously considered going back to bed, but he knew that there would be no use in it—he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and he was awake already anyway. Besides, he was a creature who thrived on routine. And so, trying very hard not to think about how similar that simple fact was to what the Cat had told him the day before, he got up and began to get dressed.

It wasn't until he started pulling on his waistcoat that he realized something was missing. He checked his bedside table; he checked his pockets; he checked his dresser; he even checked the floor under his bed in case it had fallen down in the night. Every time, he found nothing. Fighting down a rising sense of panic, he was forced to consider the only alternative. His pocket watch was gone.

His pocket watch was gone.

Abandoning his jacket on the floor in front of the wardrobe, he began wildly tearing apart his bedroom. It had to be here somewhere—he'd had it when he went to bed the night before, he'd pulled it out of his pocket—

But it was nowhere.

Almost frantic now, he stumbled out of his bedroom, hunting through every room in his house, his search growing more and more panicked and less and less systematic with every passing minute. It wasn't anywhere in the kitchen—not on the table, next to the teapot, or in the bread basket. It wasn't on his bookshelf, not even when he pulled every book off of it and sent them tumbling to the floor. It wasn't on his mantel, or in the bathroom, or in the spare bedroom. It wasn't anywhere in his pristine, almost untouched dining room. Practically sobbing, he stumbled out his front door, prepared to search every inch of his garden if he had to—and stopped dead, staring.

Just outside his gate, as he was every morning, was the Cheshire Cat, looking perfectly relaxed and calm. He was stretched out in midair, lounging back comfortably in a sitting position, and he was ignoring the Rabbit. The Cat was smiling slightly, turning something over and over in his palm as he studied it carefully, letting it catch the morning sunlight.

Tangled in his claw-tipped fingers was a long, silver chain—the chain of Theodore's pocket watch.


	5. One Side of the Mushroom

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Five: **One Side of the Mushroom**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

For a moment, Theodore only stared at him. He was almost unable to process what he was seeing. How could Chesh have his pocket watch? He hadn't given it to him. His pocket watch was just missing. Then reality rushed in with a cold, dreadful finality.

His pocket watch was missing because Chesh had stolen it.

"What are you _doing_?" he shrieked, leaping down off his porch and scurrying towards him. The Cat looked up at him, unconcerned.

"I'm examining your pocket watch. Really a beautiful piece of work," he said offhandedly, gesturing at the open clock face where the suit motifs were clearly visible.

"Give it back!" Theodore cried, snatching at it. Chesh held it up out of his reach.

"No."

"What do you mean, _no_?" the Rabbit sobbed. "You have no right—you can't just—I need it—"

"Yes," the Cat said calmly. "You do. And that is exactly the problem."

Theodore gulped, staring up at him with wide eyes. "But—but I—"

"I told you yesterday, Theodore," Chesh said, expression gentle, even though his words were firm. "You need to get over your reliance on the watch."

"But—but—Chesh, I can't, you don't understand, I _need_ it, I can't just—" the Rabbit was almost crying now, the swell of panic rising up in his throat.

"I do understand, Theodore. I understand far better than you do." The Cat sighed. "I'm afraid I can't let you have it back—not until you don't need it anymore."

"But it's mine, it's—Chesh, _please_—"

"No, Theodore. You'll get it back when you're over your compulsion—and that's that, I'm afraid."

"No, no, Chesh, it's not—"

But it was. Not even bothering to drop back to the ground, the Cat vanished, leaving Theodore protesting to the empty air.

* * *

For the next week, Theodore didn't leave his house. The Cat still appeared in front of his gate every morning, but the Rabbit just ignored him and eventually he went away. He prowled restlessly through the rooms, obsessively checking the clocks, unable to sit still, his every thought focused on his missing watch.

Mary Ann found him standing in the dining room on the fourth day, staring at the mantel clock. A tiny, timid blonde girl, she poked her head into the room, watching him silently for several minutes. When he didn't turn, she finally got up the courage to clear her throat quietly.

"Sir?"

Startled, Theodore turned, eyes wide. "What? Oh, Mary Ann, it's you. What is it?"

"Your dinner is ready, sir," she said quietly, bobbing a curtsey—a habit that Theodore had long ago given up on breaking her of.

"Oh. Yes, thank you, Mary Ann."

The Rabbit followed her back into the kitchen, where she silently served his dinner, watching him with glances out the corners of her eyes. He didn't notice, lost in his thoughts as he sat down, dismissing her casually as usual—then, barely even thinking about it, he changed his mind.

"Mary Ann," he said suddenly, his voice overly loud in the silence of the kitchen, "why is it that no one has invented a portable wall clock?"

Taken aback, the girl only blinked at him. "A—a portable wall clock, sir?" she said finally.

"Yes, a portable one," he explained, his mind still elsewhere. "You see, I was thinking earlier how useful it would be, to be able to pick up that clock over my mantel," he said, gesturing at the formal dining room with his fork, "and carry it around with me. But of course it's far too large. So I started wondering, of course, why wouldn't someone have invented a portable version?"

Mary Ann gave him a look that clearly said she wasn't sure what to tell him.

"Well?" he asked, a touch impatiently. "What is it? Just spit it out."

"Uhm, sir, that is—wouldn't that be—a pocket watch?" she asked uncertainly.

It must be admitted that the thought had barely occurred to him. Theodore stared at her for a moment, then went back to his dinner. "Very well, Mary Ann, you may go. Thank you."

* * *

On the eighth day since the Cat had taken his pocket watch, Chesh appeared in front of Theodore's gate, as he had every morning for the past month and a half. However, this morning, instead of waiting at the end of the garden path, he swung the gate open, setting foot on the Rabbit's property for the first time since he had appeared in his kitchen so long ago. Theodore, who somehow always found himself at the window when the Cat arrived, watched him walk up the path to the porch with a rising sense of panic.

Almost before Chesh had had a chance to knock, he tore the door open, glaring at him. "Go away, Cat! I don't want to see you!"

The Cat said nothing, simply looking at him calmly. There was a hint of sorrow in his deep violet eyes. Theodore got the distinct impression that Chesh had seen him at the window.

"What do you want?" he snapped when he couldn't take the Cat's gaze any longer.

"I just came to say," Chesh said quietly, "that the Palace is open again. They're expecting you in an hour."

Theodore froze, his mind suddenly reeling. Dimly, he realized he had grabbed the door frame to steady himself. Chesh made no move to support him; somehow, that hurt worse than the knowledge that his extended vacation was finally over.

In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that the Cat had had plenty of extra time this past week to finish up his work on the Palace inhabitants. Bitterly, he berated himself for not making that connection; how could he not have seen it coming? Of course the Palace would get put back into working order, and of course he'd be expected to pick up his work again.

But go back? How could he go back now, with—

"Chesh, I need my watch."

The Cat only sighed. "No, Theodore, you don't."

"Yes I do, you don't understand, I can't—" the Rabbit choked. "I can't go back to work without it, I _need_ it, the King—the Queen—"

"Are perfectly fine," Chesh said calmly. "Even if having your watch did make a concrete difference, it doesn't matter anymore. I've restored them to what they once were."

"But—but Chesh, I—_please_—"

"Do you want me to take you to the Palace?"

Trying not to cry, Theodore just shook his head.

* * *

The differences about the Palace of Hearts struck the Rabbit as soon as he walked through the gate. There were liveried guards—solid, dependable-looking guards—patrolling the walls and keeping track of Palace traffic. Some of them bore the eyepatches and scars and limps that marked those who had been put back together by the King, but they no longer moved with a gleefully predatory stalk. The garden was well pruned and tidy, and even the broken down guardhouse just inside the gate had been fixed up and given a fresh coat of paint. The soldier inside looked up as he entered, then, recognizing him, waved him onwards with a smile.

The unfamiliarity of the gesture put Theodore more off balance than any level of fear ever could.

At the entrance to the Palace itself, he encountered more guards, one of whom pulled the door open for him with a short bow. Inside, the halls were brightly lit with torches, freshly swept and scrubbed free of the grime of decades. The soldiers he saw were standing at attention at various posts, and the servants who bustled past looked both busy and energetic, a combination he had never seen within the Palace before. And so, wondering how much more shock his bewildered mind could take, he made his way down the hall to the King's study, looking forward to picking up his instructions and getting out of the Palace—when he was brought up short by the most unexpected development yet.

The King was sitting at his desk.

Uncertain, one hand still hovering on the doorknob, he froze, blinking stupidly. What was the King doing here? He was never at his desk. And then panic gripped him. He was going to get punished for entering without knocking, he just knew it—

The King set down the paper he had been looking over, catching sight of the Rabbit, still hanging nervously in the doorway. "Ah, Darwin. Excellent. The Cat said you'd be arriving soon." A frown creased his brow for a moment. "Although how he knows so much about what's going on in my Palace is a bit beyond me. Still, it seems he was right, and I can't begrudge him that."

Theodore could only stare.

"In any case, you're going to need to be in top form today. What with finally having the Palace running properly again, we've decided the only thing for it is to throw a ball. You'll be delivering invitations to the nobility today, as well as reading out the announcement in the village. We also have some paperwork to go through, some vacant positions to fill—somehow we've managed to get by for the last few years without a captain of the guard, I don't know what we were thinking—and then after that, the Queen was thinking of organizing a game of croquet for everyone in the Palace. We'd be much obliged if you'd join us."

"C-croquet, your Majesty?"

"Yes, well," the King said, smiling a bit sheepishly. "It's a passion of hers, as I'm sure you know—and I suppose it's a bit silly, but I can't help but indulge her—good grief, Darwin, are you all right?"

The Rabbit's knees had given out.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. A few moments stood out: cowering at the Duchess's door and being scolded for poor manners before she went through another one of her astonishing mood swings and began gushing over the invitation, trying to convince him to help her select a dress for the occasion; the disdain and—could it be?—fear in the March Hare's eyes as Theodore handed over the invitation granting all three Tea Party denizens access to the ball; reading the proclamation in the village square, accompanied by much muttering and excited whispers, before nailing the announcement to the notice board in front of the town hall. There was no invitation for Chesh; perhaps the King thought it would be presumptuous to invite someone obviously so powerful, or perhaps he simply didn't know where to find him. Not that it really mattered—if Theodore knew the Cat, he'd be there, invitation or no.

Then it was back to the Palace, sorting through a mountain of scattered paperwork and trying to determine whether an outdated guards' roster should be filed under "Irrelevant" or "Uninteresting," being found by the King and ordered to promote several servants and a soldier into managerial positions, running all over the Palace to find them, and finally locating the last servant in the middle of a very serious discussion about whether or not it was possible to get the dusting done without having any dust to strew about. And then after delivering his announcement and fleeing the conversation (with a cry of, "You know, it should really be called _undusting_!" following him down the hall), he found himself out on the front lawn, caught up in a romp with several servants, some off-duty guards, and the King and Queen all shooting croquet balls around and trying to get them to roll between the guards' legs in a game that, he felt, could only be described as "croquet-based nonsense." By the time he finally managed to get himself off the playing field, it was well past sunset, and his dinner had probably gone cold—not that he could tell, not having a pocket watch.

Throughout the day, all he could think was that nothing was as it had been and he felt badly out of place. He missed the comforting weight of his watch in his pocket, and the unfamiliarity of the Palace atmosphere was enough to send him into a spasm of nervous stammering every time anyone addressed him. The only thing for it, he decided as he tiredly stumbled out of his bath that evening, was to get his watch back from that blasted Cat. There was no way he could get through another day like today, so full of the unexpected, without expecting to collapse. And so, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind—that sounded remarkably like Chesh's, no less—telling him that it was stupid to be worried about feeling safe, he sat down at his kitchen table with a strong cup of tea to think about it.

The first thing he realized that there was no way the Cat could be carrying the watch on his person, for the simple reason that there were no pockets anywhere in his clothes. His pants were far too tight to hide the watch in them—and no, Theodore was not thinking about the way they nicely outlined his rear—and as for his shirt—well, could that thing even realistically be called a shirt? No, certainly not. And so, trying to tame the flush on his cheeks, Theodore progressed to the next logical hiding spot—Chesh's home. And there he was brought up short.

Where did the Cat live?

The King wasn't the only one who had no idea where Chesh could be found. Every time Theodore had seen him, it had been because the Cat had come looking for him, not the other way around. And he was sure that if the Cat had had a home, _someone_ would have run across it at some point—but no one he had ever spoken to had mentioned anything about it, and as the royal messenger and herald, he had spoken to a lot of people. So where was the Cat to be found when he wasn't fixing Palace inhabitants, visiting the Mad Hatter, or following Theodore around?

Desperately, the Rabbit threw his mind back to every conversation he had ever had with Chesh. Had he ever mentioned a home? A nest, even? No, there was nothing. Some place he was especially familiar with? No, he was equally at home no matter where they went. He didn't even seem to have a problem with Theodore's own house. Perhaps some place he had seen the Cat more often than anywhere else?

And then he had it.

The Tulgey Wood.

That was it. In a burst of excitement, Theodore stood up, scurrying for the door. The Wood was only ten minutes' walk from his own front gate. He could be there in five, if he ran, and then all he had to do was search until he found whatever secret hole the Cat had tucked his watch into. It was so simple—how could he not have seen it before?

It wasn't until he was half an hour into the wood, tripping over roots in the darkness as he wound his way further and further off the beaten track, that he realized he in his pyjamas in the middle of the most dangerous forest in Wonderland, lost, in the middle of the night—and suddenly he had a lot more pressing issues to think about than his missing pocket watch.

What was it the Cat had said about a monster in the Wood...?

"No. Don't be ridiculous, Theodore," he told himself, trying to sound firm instead of like he was about to shake himself to pieces. "He was just trying to scare you," he said, trembling, stumbling backwards to press himself against a tree, eyes darting around in the gloom, hoping desperately that he wouldn't see anything. "It was all just—just a joke. He was playing with you."

"Playing?" rasped a deep voice right next to his ear. "Can I play with you too?"

Theodore tried to scream, tried to run, but there was a strong grip on his wrist and his voice was suddenly muffled into a cloth—he was struggling, fighting wildly, but his limbs felt so weak, and the cloth smelled sickly sweet, and he was so tired... and the voice in his ear was laughing, a dry, scratchy cackle as his vision started swimming, and for a moment he could have sworn he could see the bright shape of the Cheshire Cat running through the trees towards him...

_Chesh... help..._

Then the world faded into thick, soft blackness and he welcomed it gratefully, sinking into its foggy depths until even that faded too.

* * *

Now that his work at the Palace was done, Chesh finally had a night to himself, and he had planned to use it to sleep—not that he really needed to sleep, all things considered, but being a cat meant that a certain amount of slumber was never unwelcome. The Cat had never had trouble dropping into a nap, or sleeping through the night, or dozing in uncomfortable places—so why was it that he had unexpectedly woken in the middle of the night now that he finally had a good opportunity for some shut-eye?

Why, indeed?

Crawling out his window onto the branch outside, he held very still, head uplifted, ears twitching, scenting the air deeply as he reached out with his mind and _sensed_. It was nothing physical—nothing that could be seen or touched or heard or smelled, nothing that was amiss in the area surrounding his home, nothing that disturbed the quietly slumbering air of the Tulgey Wood—but still... something...

Something was wrong.

Biting his lip, the Cat sat up. _I should check on Theo._

The thought had been unbidden, unanticipated—but if anyone knew to trust their instincts, it was the Cheshire Cat. If something was wrong and his first thought was for the Rabbit, the only thing that could mean was that Theodore was in trouble. And so, without thinking, without even questioning it, he grabbed the branch he was sitting on, swinging himself off.

He had vanished before hitting the ground, and when he touched down, he was in the Rabbit's bedroom. More to the point, he was alone in the Rabbit's bedroom. The bed was neatly made and didn't seem to have been slept in, despite the late hour—by the moon outside, it was almost midnight. The Cat had got to know Theodore rather well over the last months, and he knew even without having to be told that if the Rabbit wasn't in bed by ten, _there was a problem._

So where was he? Surely not in the house.

Growing agitated, Chesh took the stairs three at a time, landing in the dark hallway with barely a sound. There were no lights on in the kitchen and no one at the table; Theodore hadn't fallen asleep in one of his living room chairs, or in the dining room, and he already knew there was no one upstairs—the Cat had learned to trust his nose, and there were no fresh scents on the second floor of the house. It was deserted, silent but for the overloud ticking of the synchronized clocks in every room. The Rabbit was gone.

So _where was he_?

Terrified now, he reached out again, letting Wonderland flow into his consciousness, searching for the familiar sweet softness of the Rabbit—

Nothing.

He couldn't feel him.

But if he couldn't feel him, then—

No, he couldn't panic. He had to think. Theodore was a creature of routine. What could have possessed him to leave his house in the middle of the night—and where would he have gone? He was terrified of everything, and everywhere, especially without his pocket watch—

His pocket watch.

No, that didn't make sense. His pocket watch was safely hidden away in Chesh's home, and nobody knew where that was, least of all the Rabbit, who was scared of everything past his own doorstep. It didn't make sense—but it was the only thing that made sense. That pocket watch was the only thing he'd panic over to such an extent, even if there were clocks everywhere in his house—clocks keeping time, time was flying and Theodore was in danger, could he slow time, stop time—Benjamin had stopped time—

Benjamin had stopped time and the Hare hated Theodore.

Before he even had time to think he was gone again, and all he could focus on was time and anger and suspicion and it was all mixed up in his head now and he had to get to Theodore—

He landed with a clatter in the middle of the Tea Party, upsetting sugar bowls and sending waves of cream and tea sloshing across the table. The Hatter gave a yelp of surprise and jumped out of the way—the Dormouse got a rude awakening with some hot tea, squealed, and fell off his chair—the Hare was hit full in the chest with an upended creamer and leapt to his feet, crying out in disgust as the liquid poured all over his tailored suit. The sky here was a strange shade of dusty orange, some suspended twilight, and time had stopped just like he'd thought, and there was the Hare just like he'd thought, and before he could stop himself he'd lunged towards him, springing off the table to grab him by the collar, snarling in his face as the bewildered Hatter cried for calm in the background, and all he could think about was the Rabbit—

"Where's Theodore?"

The March Hare had obviously never seen the Cat this angry—and with Chesh looming over him, making the difference in their heights very obvious—had he been this tall before?—all the Hare could do was stammer. The Cat snarled again, tossing him to the ground, crouching next to him with one knee pressed on his chest, looking every inch the feral beast he was.

"I said, _where's Theodore_?"

"I—who—but—I don't know who—"

"The _Rabbit_," Chesh hissed, fangs growing dangerously close to the Hare's throat. "_Where is he_?"

The Hare just made a strangled noise, shaking his head, eyes fixed on the Cat's sharp teeth. Chesh shook him, and he whimpered.

"I—I don't know—I haven't seem him since yesterday—"

"Please, Mr. Cat, you're choking him," the Hatter begged from behind the Cat, still hovering, frozen, where he had jumped away from the table. On the ground, the Dormouse squeaked, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

"If he's got Theodore—"

"I don't know where he is!"

"Mr. Cat, please, you're going to hurt him—"

"No! Theodore's gone, something's wrong, I can feel it, and I can't find him, I don't know where he is—and if I can't find someone then _they are in trouble_ and I have to find them and if you've got him, I swear I'm going to—"

"Really, Chesh," said Benjamin calmly. "Think for a moment. You're not making any sense."

The Cat was so surprised that he almost tripped over the Hare in his haste to get to his feet.

"Benjamin? But you—what's going on?"

"Only a brief lucid moment, I can assure you," he said crisply, sitting down in a vacant chair with all of his former elegance. For a moment, a flash of bitterness crossed his face, and then he was back to business. "So—the Rabbit is missing. Well, he's not here, Chesh, you can be sure of that. Harlan is much too self-centred to even think to kidnap him—oh, don't give me that look, Harlan, you know it's true. Chesh, please think for a moment. If you can't find him, _something must be blocking you._"

"But nothing blocks me, Benjamin, I can always find—"

"_Think._ You told me this yourself. Wonderland is a world of ideas. Ideas are the most confusing—"

"At the centre," Chesh breathed. "He's in the Wood."

"Exactly so."

"But he's terrified of the Wood, Benjamin," the Cat cried desperately. "If he's in trouble there, it could be anything, even something he imagined! Where the fuck do I start?"

Behind him, the Hare sniffed, getting to his feet. "I don't see why _we_ should care."

The Cat rounded on him "You—"

"If anyone knows," the Hatter interrupted delicately, before Chesh could make any more violent gestures in the Hare's direction, "it will be those who creep in the tangled places in the centre, seeing everything and going unseen."

The breath froze in Chesh's throat. Of course. The most powerful denizens lived in the centre of Wonderland, but sometimes those desperate for a taste of that power found their way in, as well—and there was no telling what they would do to get it when they were drunk on stolen dreams...

"'Sometime, he dwelleth in the grass'," he quoted woodenly. "'Sometime, upon a bough, from which he doth descend in plush upon the passer-by'."

"Emily Dickinson," Benjamin said, eyes going wide in surprise. "That's—"

"The Caterpillar Riddle," Chesh confirmed. "Evan Savage has him."

* * *

Theodore awoke groggily, blinking away a dizzying heaviness. Everything was outlined in a golden glow, and he thought for one confused moment that something was wrong with his eyes, but then his perception snapped back into place and he realized his glasses were missing and there was firelight reflecting off the trees. Then the nausea hit him, and he doubled over, heaving wetly until his stomach was empty.

It was only when he straightened again that he realized all that had held him on his feet were the thick ropes looped around his chest, securing him to the tree behind him.

Suddenly his fear came tumbling back, and he looked around in terror, but without his glasses he could barely see anything. His feet were brushing grass, so he was still on the ground, and trees surrounded him, so he was still in the Wood, but where in the Wood was anyone's guess. The firelight seemed to be coming from somewhere above him, but when he twisted his head up, he couldn't see its source; it was reflected back, flickering, on several glittering objects on the ground, but otherwise the clearing was still. He seemed to be quite alone.

And then a hand reached out from behind him and delicately set his glasses back on his nose.

Choking back a scream, Theodore twisted wildly away from that hand, struggling against the ropes to face his captor. Now that he could see again, details were jumping out at him—the glass bottles and jars full of powders scattered all over the ground, the abnormally large mushrooms growing all over everything, the branches around him that were choked with vines and brambles, blocking his way out, even if he hadn't been tied up—and the man who had kidnapped him, the owner of that cracked voice, looming out of the shadows and laughing his raw, scratchy laugh as Theodore cowered back from him—a man he had never seen before, but who he recognized, beyond any doubt—

This, he knew, was the Caterpillar.

Tall and dreadfully emaciated, with unnaturally long, bony limbs and dirty, matted black hair falling around his shoulders, he was easily the most horrifying creature the Rabbit had ever seen, within Wonderland or without. His bulging black eyes glittered feverishly out of his sunken eye sockets, his skeletal face stretched wide in a manic grin; he was naked, every inch of his sickly flesh exposed to the open air, but he didn't seem to care. His body was spotted with irregular patches of bruise purple, as though he were rotting from the inside; the colour extended onto his face, colouring his right cheek and the circles around his eyes. A dark green mould spread across his back and over his hips and shoulders, and poisonous red mushrooms grew all over his back. He barely looked like he could be real, much less a living being.

His limbs working in a kind of jerky concert, bunching his muscles as if he wasn't quite in control of them, he moved out of the shadows, and it became apparent what he had been working on; behind him, Theodore could see an opium pipe lying against one of the bulbous mushrooms, the lamp already lit and glowing softly. He flinched back again.

The Caterpillar advanced on him, still chuckling roughly, leaning over him, his chest pressed against the Rabbit's. Unthinking, Theodore turned his head away, straining backwards.

"You struggle so beautifully," the Caterpillar whispered. Theodore flinched again. Eyes clenched shut, he kept his face turned away, trying not to whimper. His voice sounded as though it hadn't been used in years.

"Would you struggle like that once I claim you, I wonder," he continued, that dry cracking outlining every word. "Would you keep fighting me?"

With a sick shock, the Rabbit realized what he was talking about, his eyes going wide with fear as a wave of revulsion clawed its way up his throat and he started up his fighting anew. "N-no—no, please don't—don't touch me, don't—"

"That's what I thought," the Caterpillar breathed, pressing close against him, his blackened, pointed tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Theodore shuddered, struggling to get as far away from him as he could. He couldn't stand this, he couldn't—

But the Caterpillar wasn't paying attention to his reactions, lost in his own twisted imaginings. "Should I let you, I wonder?" he continued. "Should I watch you strain against your ropes and fight my every movement and know that I have you regardless? Or should I drug you like I planned?" His hand trailed down the Rabbit's chest, hovering over the waistband of his pyjamas. "It might not be as satisfying... but it would be a shame to waste the opium..." Then he smiled, a dreadful, feverish grimace. "Well, I suppose I can always get more." And then his hand dove into Theodore's pants, wrapping around him firmly, as if he belonged there, in the most invasive touch the Rabbit had ever experienced.

For a moment, he froze, too shocked to do anything else. Then a sob ripped its way out of his throat and he started kicking, fighting to get away, but the ropes held him firm and there was nowhere he could go—the Caterpillar was stroking him, stroking and smirking, and every second of his touch was a thousand years of disgust and shame and horror and Theodore could feel the panic coiling in his stomach and he'd never wanted this, never wanted a touch like this from anyone but Chesh—Chesh who held his eyes and his thoughts and made the blood pound in his ears—but this wasn't Chesh and it was so wrong, all wrong, and he couldn't get away—

And then out of nowhere the Caterpillar was torn away, slammed back against a tree, and the vines had parted to let something in from the outside and now they were twisting around him, thorny brambles digging into his flesh and making his blood run red against his skin and the Cat was there, the Cat was snarling in his face, feral and angry and terrifying and—

"You sick fuck!" he roared, his claws flashing out to tear four vicious scratches across the Caterpillar's face. "You don't touch him, you understand me? You're never fucking touching anyone ever again!"

The Caterpillar laughed, that broken, cracked chuckle, his eyes wild and vacant. "His struggles were beautiful," he whispered.

The Cat's only response was to snarl and pull back his fist, the impact leaving a blooming purple bruise on his left cheek to mirror the marks on the other side of his face.

Once again the Caterpillar barely appeared to notice. "It looked like such ecstasy..."

Another snarl, another strike—another spreading bruise.

"I've claimed him now... he's mine..."

And at that the Cat lost all semblance of control, lashing out violently until the Caterpillar's face was broken and bloody and it was impossible to tell where the marks ended and the bruises began. Through his beating, he only laughed, sagging against his restraints, driving the thorns deeper and deeper into his body.

At last, Chesh dropped him, disgusted, and turned away. Stalking over to Theodore, the ropes fled before his hands, freeing him, and he caught the trembling Rabbit against his chest. In one last violent gesture, he flung his hand towards the softly glowing opium pipe; they were gone before the shattered glass had hit the ground.

And the Caterpillar still hadn't stopped laughing.

* * *

"Chesh, he touched me, he—he was going to—"

"Shh, Theo, it's okay, it's okay, you're safe—just hold onto me—"

"No—no, it's not okay—I couldn't—he _touched_ me and I couldn't get away—"

They had reappeared in Theodore's room, and Chesh had immediately carried him over to the bed, tucking him in and crawling on top of the covers to cradle the Rabbit against his chest—but rather than calming now that he was out of danger, his shaking had only intensified and he wouldn't stop sobbing. Nothing the Cat said seemed to get through to him.

"I know what he did, but you're _safe_ now, Theo, you're safe, it's okay—"

"No, no—it's too much, I want out, I want—" the Rabbit sobbed, his whole body shuddering violently. "I want out, Chesh, I want out, I hate this place—it's a madhouse—"

"No, no it's not, Theo, it's okay," the Cat soothed, curling closer around the smaller boy. Theodore shouldn't have been shaking this hard...

"Yes it is, it's an asylum, a lunatic asylum and I want _out_, Chesh, I want out—" And then his body went into a fit of spasms and a choked sound burst out of his throat, halfway between a sob and a scream, and he wouldn't stop shaking and then Chesh understood—this wasn't just fear or panic or helplessness, it was something much worse—a nervous breakdown or a panic attack and all he could do for him was hold him close until it passed.

"It's okay, Theo," the Cat whispered, bending his head down against the Rabbit's as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "It's okay, I promise you, I'm here..."

At last the Rabbit's screams subsided and his body calmed, though his shaking and sobs didn't stop, and Chesh continued whispering, not caring that Theodore was barely conscious enough to hear him, let alone understand his words.

"You know where lunatic asylums get their names from, Theo? They were meant to be places of refuge—a safe home for those who couldn't look after themselves. That's what asylum means, you know—protection. But they were never safe for the people who were committed—just like Wonderland hasn't been safe for you... and that's my fault, Theo, and I'm so sorry..."

The first tear spilled over his cheek, falling softly towards his lips, but he ignored it, only cradling the young Rabbit closer.

"But things are going to change, I'm going to make things better, I'm going to make this a place of protection like it should have been all along... From now on, I promise you, my love..."

And now the tears were falling thickly and his voice was choked with sorrow, but it didn't matter, Theodore was all that mattered, and he curled around him, shielding him from the outside world, breathing his vow against the Rabbit's hair as Theodore finally, gently slipped into sleep.

"... I'll look after you, Theo... I'll be your asylum."


	6. Because I'm Not Myself

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Six: **Because I'm Not Myself**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

When Theodore woke the next morning, Chesh had fallen asleep on top of his blankets, his body curled around him to protect him from the outside world. For a moment, the Rabbit was disoriented—then the memory of that awful touch crawled back across his skin like a pack of spiders and he doubled up, shaking, his stomach wrenching with spasms, the sobs starting again—he couldn't deal with this, he couldn't handle the memory of those hands on his skin—he felt so dirty and unclean and—

He had to wash.

He was so warm and comfortable, and he didn't want to move away from Chesh's touch, but once the idea had occurred to him he couldn't get it out of his head. He hovered in indecision for a moment, but his desire for comfort couldn't win out over his need to be clean, and he started to fight his way out from the blankets, squirming out of Chesh's arms even though moving away from him left him feeling vulnerable and unsafe, but the Caterpillar's touch was crawling over his skin and he couldn't ignore that, no matter how hard he tried, and he had to get out, he had to—

His legs were shaking when he stood up, but he didn't let that stop him, dragging himself along the walls, almost stumbling more than once on his way to the bathroom, collapsing against the bathtub when he finally made it inside. As he started to pull his clothes off, he reached for the taps, scrambling to fill the bath, hardly even caring about the temperature, and when he tumbled in it was too hot, but that didn't even matter because maybe the heat would burn the feeling of that touch from his skin—but it wouldn't be enough, he'd have to clean, so he grabbed a cloth and the bar of soap and set to work, scrubbing and scrubbing until his skin felt raw.

When Chesh found him, almost an hour later, he was sitting in the back end of the tub, curled up in a little ball, staring into space, shivering so violently that he seemed he was going to shake himself apart. The Cat dipped his fingers into the water; it had gone cold.

"Okay, Theo," Chesh said softly. "It's time to come out."

The Rabbit made no response, but Chesh hadn't expected one. He reached into the bath, popping the plug out to let the water drain, and carefully wrapped Theodore up in a fluffy blue towel, covering as much of his body as possible. Then he put his strong arms around him, lifting the shaking Rabbit up against his chest, and carried him back to bed.

* * *

Theodore slept fitfully for most of the afternoon, alternating between glassy-eyed shock and shuddering sobs. Every time he awoke, the Cat was there beside him, sometimes appearing out of nowhere just before Theodore opened his eyes; when the Rabbit passed once again into a restless sleep, the Cat would return to the kitchen, sometimes coming back with a plate of hot food, other times with only a mug of tea or a glass of water. He stayed awake all night, watching over the Rabbit's sleeping form. When Theodore awoke once again in the morning light, the Cat was curled up next to him, asleep; he looked like he'd drifted off with his chin propped on his hand.

For a moment, the Rabbit just lay there, studying the Cat's sleeping face. If he ignored the sickening hollowness in his chest, he could almost pretend that this was a typical morning—that Chesh was there because that was the way things were, and not because Theodore had needed saving, again. Then that ghost touch crawled over him again and the illusion was broken. That wasn't going to happen.

Best to just put it out of his mind.

He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. He felt disgusting again, but this time it was entirely physical, the effects of being wrapped up in warm blankets for most of the previous day and night. A bath, he decided, was certainly in order.

He did his best not to disturb the Cat, but he needn't have bothered; almost as soon as he started wriggling his way out from under the blankets, Chesh blinked and opened his eyes, sitting up with more grace than anyone had a right to at this hour of the morning.

"Morning," he said sleepily, stretching. "How are you feeling?"

That wasn't a question Theodore wanted to contemplate. "Fine," he said.

Chesh frowned, gaze sharpening on his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Theodore said stubbornly. "I'm going to have a bath."

"Hiding from your feelings isn't going to help, Theo," the Cat said. His tone was gentle, but the Rabbit didn't want to hear it.

"I don't care!" he snapped. "I'm grateful to you for getting me out of that mess, but I wouldn't have been in it in the first place if you hadn't started meddling with my life! Well, I've had enough—I'm going to deal with my problems my own way, thank you very much. Now, are you going to move out of my way, or do I have to climb over you to get to the bathroom?"

For a moment, the Cat said nothing, eyes searching the Rabbit's face; then something changed in his expression and he looked down, silently moving out of his way. Theodore stalked off to the bathroom without looking back, barely even noticing that that was the first time he had ever managed to talk back to Chesh without breaking down.

* * *

Chesh made breakfast while Theodore was in the bath, but he didn't get a chance to enjoy it; as soon as he emerged from the bathroom, wrapped up in a long burgundy bathrobe, the Rabbit shooed him out of the house. "I have to get things back to normal," he said. "You hanging around isn't helping any."

"I'll come by tomorrow, then," Chesh said, as he found himself unexpectedly being prodded out the door.

"That's not necessary, thank you." And then the door was closed in his face.

For a moment, he just stood there, blinking stupidly in the sunlight as he stared at the door. Then he turned, making his way down the path from the Rabbit's front door to his gate, thumbs tucked into his waistband, lost in thought.

_He's not acting at all as I expected_, he mused. _What happened between now and last night?_ He shook his head. This wasn't like Theodore at all. The Rabbit might have thought he was getting things back to normal, but this was beyond strange.

_I might just have to wait and see if he sorts things out_, he thought. _Though I suppose the least I can do is arrange a break from work._

He nodded, satisfied. That would likely do Theodore some good. Mind made up, he focused, feeling that familiar sensation of incorporeality as Wonderland blurred around him. _And I should give him his watch back._

* * *

The King of Hearts was sitting in his office, sorting through a towering pile of paperwork. There always seemed to be an excess of it in the Palace; the government of Wonderland took the idea of bureaucracy to entirely new levels of absurdity. The King didn't even notice when Chesh appeared in the room; Chesh watched with increasing amusement as he muttered over his papers, dropping one into one pile, signing and sealing a second, jotting notes on a third. Finally, the Cat grew tired of waiting, clearing his throat softly. The King practically catapulted to his feet, upsetting a three-foot stack of unsorted papers.

"Good grief! Oh, damnation," he added, looking down at the papers now scattered all over the floor with a dejected expression. Then, suddenly remembering his visitor, he looked up, adjusting his monocle. "Oh, Mr. Cat. I'm afraid you gave me quite a turn."

"My apologies, your Majesty," the Cat said, bowing smoothly. "I'm afraid I have a matter I need to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait?" the King pleaded, looking down once again at his floor. "I have rather a bit of a mess to deal with at the moment—good _grief_!"

This last exclamation was accompanied by a startled jump back as the papers on the floor suddenly lifted themselves up and started flying in all directions, landing neatly on the various piles all over the King's desk. When the King looked up at the Cheshire Cat, he was hardly surprised to see that his eyes were glowing faintly.

"There you go," the Cat said when the last paper had settled into its place and his eyes had gone back to their normal shade. "Everything has been sorted. The ones in front of you need signing, and the ones immediately to your left need to be looked over. The rest can be filed." He looked up, raising an eyebrow at the King, who was still staring at him in surprise. "You have files for croquet?"

"Yes, well," the King muttered, sinking back into his seat. "You had something to discuss with me?"

"Yes, it's about Theodore."

"Theo—oh, you mean Darwin," the King said, carefully catching himself. "What's going on? Does it have anything to do with why he wasn't in yesterday?" He glanced down at his watch; it was nearly noon. "Or why he doesn't seem to be coming in today?"

"I'm afraid it does," Chesh said apologetically. "He won't be coming in for the next few days. He's had some problems in his personal life and he needs to take some time off."

"Oh, please, Mr. Cat!" the King cried. "Must he really? We just got him back, and the Queen needs his help with preparing for the ball—"

"It's just for a few days. Please—as a personal favour."

"Oh, well," the King grumbled, looking down. He might have been the ruler of Wonderland, but they both knew who, of the two of them, was more powerful. "I suppose if you put it like that..."

"I'm grateful," the Cat said, bowing again.

"But listen here, Mr. Cat, you can't just go excusing him from work all the time—" the King began, looking up. The Cat had already vanished.

* * *

Despite Theodore's declaration of self-sufficiency, Chesh showed up at his front door the next morning, as usual. He was surprised to hear a flurry of activity going on inside, and, frowning slightly, he knocked. When the door was thrown open, his frown only deepened; Theodore was wearing the Palace livery.

"What is it?" the Rabbit said, a touch impatiently. "I don't really have time for visitors right now, Chesh."

"Why are you wearing that?" the Cat asked, eyes on his tunic.

"What?" Theodore asked, glancing down at himself. "It's my uniform. I always wear this to the Palace."

"But you're not going to the Palace," Chesh protested.

The Rabbit gaped at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Let me guess. You've done me another favour and excused me from work for the day—no, I'm sorry. For the week."

"Well, yes," Chesh said, a touch uncertainly. This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. "I thought that you could do with—"

"You thought wrong," Theodore snapped. "I told you yesterday, I'm trying to get things back to normal."

"But you—"

"And 'normal' means I'm going back to work," the Rabbit continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I don't care what—extenuating circumstances there might be. I am not taking a vacation."

"Theodore, I just think—"

"And I'll thank you," Theodore added, jabbing him in the chest, "to stop interfering with my life! I can manage things on my own, Cat. I don't need you to deal with everything for me!"

"Theo, you've had a traumatic experience—"

"I'm _fine_!" the Rabbit cried. His voice was shaking. Chesh just looked at him. After a moment, Theodore looked away.

"I'm fine," he repeated. "And I'm going to work. If that's all, you can go."

"Actually, there is one more thing," Chesh said. With a moment of concentration, Theodore's pocket watch appeared in his palm, and he held it out, offering it to the surprised Rabbit. "I thought I should give this back to you."

For a moment, Theodore only stared at him. Then he picked it up, smiling wryly, and flipped it open to check the time. The sight of it seemed to calm him a bit, and he smiled faintly before pocketing it, but when he looked back up at the Cat, his expression was on the displeased side of neutral.

"Is that everything?" the Rabbit asked. "Because I really need to get to work."

Chesh bit his lip. "Do you want a lift?"

Theodore hesitated a moment.

"Do you really want to have to walk through the Tulgey Wood?" the Cat pressed.

For a moment, a flash of vulnerability was visible on the Rabbit's face—then his eyes hardened.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Thank you, but no. Good day."

And then he shut the door.

* * *

The Palace of Hearts was once again a flurry of activity when the Rabbit arrived; guards were patrolling, servants were occupied, gardeners were slopping red paint on rosebushes and running from the Queen, and the woman herself was romping through the gardens in pursuit, sending brightly coloured hedgehogs flying with a swing of her flamingo mallet with a horde of liveried servants hot on her trail. It was just as ridiculous as it had been on his first day back, but somehow it didn't seem to matter quite so much now. So what if nothing really made sense anymore? It was kind of funny.

The King was once again sitting in his office, muttering to himself as he frantically scribbled out proclamations and signatures on the paperwork scattered all over the desk, the floor, the furniture, and his lap. He looked up at the Rabbit's quick knock, nodding to him, then looked up again, his eyes widening in surprise. "Darwin! What are you doing here? The Cat said—"

"There's been a change of plans," Theodore said quickly. "Or rather, he was mistaken. I'm not taking any time off."

"Oh. Well," the King said, brightening somewhat. "Wonderful! Now that you're here, there's lots to get done, of course, I've just finished drawing up the list of ingredients we'll need for the ball and someone has to oversee the servants in their shopping, and there's the cooks to be notified and duties to be worked out for the guards, and of course the Queen will want to finalize the details of the decoration—have you seen her, Darwin? I'm not sure where she got to."

"She was in the garden as I was arriving, your Majesty," he said, trying not to be overwhelmed by the flood of information.

"Excellent, excellent," the King said, clapping once. "Well, we'll get to that later. For now, the list, please, I'll need you to organize the servants."

He held out a scroll to the Rabbit, and Theodore took it. "I'll get started right away."

"Good, good, off you go, Darwin," the King said, going back to his paperwork. With a short bow, Theodore turned to leave.

"Oh, Darwin?" the King called suddenly.

"What is it, your Majesty?" the Rabbit asked, looking back at him.

"Do you really think we need files for croquet?"

For some reason, that struck Theodore as funny, and he suppressed a smile. "Whatever you think is best, your Majesty."

"Oh, of course. On your way."

"Your Majesty."

Theodore stepped out of the King's office, shutting the door firmly behind him, and began unrolling the scroll to get a good look at what he was working with. In disbelief, he watched as it just kept unrolling, finally coming to a halt well after the bottom end had dropped to the floor and bounced off down the hall, trailing almost thirty feet of paper behind it.

He sighed. "This is going to be a long day."

* * *

By the time the day was over, Theodore had been run thoroughly ragged, but, overall, he thought, the day had gone well. Yes, the servants had been intractable and brimming with nonsense, but in the end he had organized everyone and sent them off to do their shopping; yes, there were too many things to get done and to buy, but he had set things up so that the servants he had sent out would be communicating directly with the cooks, so hopefully he would be able to stay out of it; yes, the two sides seemed to argue a lot, but it wasn't out of spite—merely their own contrary natures. So that, at least, had been sorted for now, though he had no doubts that he would be pulled back in to settle one dispute or another a good number of times before this circus had drawn to a close.

Once the kitchen business had been concluded, at least for the morning, Theodore had returned to the King's office to discuss the organization of the entire event; several hours and a dozen cups of tea later, they had worked out as much of the schedule as they could with as little nonsense as possible, and the Rabbit's head was buzzing. Then he had run all over the Palace to track the Queen down and get her input on the decorations; despite the nervous fluttering in the pit of his stomach, she had been perfectly pleasant, if a bit silly and easily distracted. He had finally got everything he needed from her, and then it was back up to talk to the King to make sure everything was running smoothly on his end, and then, finally back home to collapse on the sofa while Mary Ann finished making his dinner.

When all was said and done, he felt oddly satisfied. He couldn't remember the last time he had looked forward to going to work the next day.

* * *

The next morning, before he had even finished getting dressed, there was a knock on the Rabbit's front door. Muttering irritably as he came down the stairs, only half finished buttoning up his shirt, he was more than ready to snap a scolding at his early visitor—only to have it die on his tongue when he pulled the door open to reveal the Cat, looking thoroughly miserable, with his big striped ears pinned down in distress.

"I'm sorry," Chesh said before Theodore could even open his mouth. "I shouldn't have tried to meddle with your life without asking you. I was just trying to look after you, but obviously that didn't work out too well and it would really be better if I just minded my own business. So I'm sorry—you have no idea how sorry. Taking your watch away from you was probably the worst possible thing I could have done. If it helps you cope with your life, I shouldn't try to get rid, even if I don't understand it. I know that now. And I'm sorry."

For a moment, the Rabbit wasn't sure what to say. He was glad Chesh had apologized—he had been the one in the wrong, after all—but he didn't know how to accept it. He just wanted things to go back to normal...

"Chesh, I—it's all right, really..."

"No, it isn't Theodore," the Cat said, his ears still pinned. "You were right. It was my fault that things started going wrong for you. You know what's best for you. Wanting to look after you shouldn't mean trying to control everything about your life—you're perfectly capable of doing that yourself."

"Then promise me you won't do it again and let's get on with our lives," the Rabbit said, a touch irritably.

"That can't be enough, Theo—"

"Just promise me, Cat!" the Rabbit snapped.

"I promise," Chesh said—but it was clear that he didn't think it nearly adequate.

Theodore ignored him. "It's over and done with now. It doesn't matter."

"But it does," the Cat said, lifting dull eyes to meet the Rabbit's gaze. For a moment, Theodore froze, struck by the guilt in those violet depths; then Chesh looked down again and the spell was broken, leaving the Rabbit to wonder, uncertainly, if he'd imagined it.

"Chesh, it's okay...," he said tentatively.

The Cat said nothing.

Undaunted, Theodore pressed on. "Yes, you made a big mistake, but you saved me, too—and you've promised me you won't do it again, so... I forgive you."

"That doesn't absolve me of anything," Chesh said quietly. "I've done something terrible, Theodore, and I'm sorry. More sorry than you could possibly know."

For another long moment, the Rabbit was silent, not knowing what to say; the way the Cat was talking, he was almost positive that this ran deeper than what had happened between them.

Then the Cat seemed to shake off his misery, looking up at him with a hesitant hope in his eyes.

"But I thought... even if I still have a lot of work to do to make up for what I've done... maybe if I apologized, things could get back to normal between us, at least...?"

And then Theodore was brought up short.

He _wanted_ things to go back to normal, he really did—but was that ever going to happen? No matter what he did, he would never be able to forget the feeling of those awful hands crawling over his skin—and no matter what the Cat said about it, Theodore knew Chesh wouldn't forget about it either. The Cat had been willing to save him from that situation, to keep him safe that night and to tend to him the next day, but how much farther would that extend? Would Chesh be able to keep looking at him every day—to keep holding him every day—knowing that anything they could have had had been contaminated by the Caterpillar's touch? The relationship they might have had—and Theodore could admit to himself, now that it didn't matter anymore, that he had wanted it—just wasn't going to happen anymore. There was no way Chesh would want him now. Better just not to try.

"Maybe you should just go," he said quietly.

The shocked look that Chesh gave him quickly turned into what could only be described as heartbreak. For a moment the Rabbit wavered—had he made the right choice?—but then his resolve strengthened. He had to be realistic.

"I have to get to work," Theodore said. The Cat didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sorry, Theo," he whispered. "I'm going to make it up to you, I swear. I'm going to set things right."

"Just go, please," the Rabbit begged. If the Cat didn't leave he was going to lose his nerve.

Without another word, Chesh vanished. Theodore watched him fade away with a lump in his throat, then shut the door. He would get by. Maybe things wouldn't be perfect, but they never had.

He would be okay.

* * *

He was not okay at all.

He could lie as much as he wanted—he could tell the King he was just a bit tired, he could pretend he was fine in front of the servants, he could even maintain his composure before the Queen herself—but no matter what he did, he just couldn't lie to himself anymore. And he was not fine.

It wasn't work that was causing him trouble. Life at the Palace of Hearts was as hectic and busy as ever, but he was getting used to that; he even, in a peculiar way, had come to look forward to it. No, it was all the other times, moments in which he used to feel safe, that he could no longer keep himself together. Every night he would lie awake for hours, his mind awhirl with chaotic thoughts that refused to settle; once he finally did drift off, his sleep was restless and plagued by nightmares, and more than once he woke up in a cold sweat from a dream of diseased hands and crackling laughter, and no matter what he did, he couldn't shake the sense of panic that accompanied it. Waking up in the morning became a chore; there were even days that he slept late, something he had never done before, and he took to setting an alarm every night. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to focus on anything, and every day when he walked through the Wood—

He could barely think about the Wood.

He feared it now, in a way that he never had before. Every rustle of the bushes was a dream-drunk denizen on the prowl; every crack of a twig was the Caterpillar coming for him. Every day he would tell himself that today, he would be able to get through it—today, he would be strong. But no matter what he said, every time he approached the Wood, he would start to shake, and by the time he was halfway through it he would be sobbing and fleeing from shadows with his pulse pounding in his ears while his heart screamed at him to run to Chesh, to hide in the safety of the Cat's arms, where he would be protected and safe and everything would be okay. And then his tears would only fall faster, because he knew it would never happen, that the Cat would never hold him like that again—but still his treacherous heart refused to give up hope.

And to make matters worse, the Cat himself had completely disappeared.

Every day, the Rabbit grew less and less sure that he had made the right choice. Everything reminded him of Chesh now—when he was making breakfast he would remember the day that the Cat inexplicably knew he took his tea with a splash of cream and two sugar; when he passed the Duchess's estate he was reminded of the day Chesh laid in front of the fire, purring and drinking cream; when he walked up the Palace steps he recalled the first time the Cat gave him a lift to work, and how strong his arms had felt around the Rabbit's slender frame. When he caught a flash of pink or purple out of the corner of his eye his heart leapt into his throat and he turned, only to be disappointed when it was a design in a tapestry, or a suddenly blooming flowerbed, or the glimpse of a townswoman's dress. And at night, when he was trying to sleep, he would reflect, with a touch of ironic amusement, that he seemed to have simply traded one form of madness for another.

And then suddenly, one day, the Cat was back.

He appeared on Theodore's front step one night about three weeks after the Rabbit had last seen him, just as he was finishing dinner. Theodore peered out the window, eyes widening when he saw who it was, and practically stumbled over himself in his haste to throw open the door—but before he could do anything, before he could collapse into the Cat's arms or demand to know where he had been or start crying, Chesh held up a hand to silence him, taking a deep breath.

"I know you don't really want to see me," he said, not meeting Theodore's eyes, "but I just thought... you might like to know that I took care of him."

"Took care of who?" the Rabbit asked, bewildered. "Chesh, where have you been?"

"In the Tulgey Wood," the Cat said. Theodore suppressed a shudder, but he didn't seem to notice. "I've set things right, just like I promised."

"What—what are you talking about?" the Rabbit asked, growing more and more confused. What had the Cat been doing?

"The Caterpillar," Chesh said, looking up at him for the first time. "He can't hurt you anymore, Theo. I've fixed it."

"Fixed _what_? Chesh, what did you do?"

"Locked him up," the Cat said. "His den is surrounded by a ring of impassable forest. Anyone who tries to get through it, in either direction, will find themselves getting turned around and sent back the other way, no matter which way they try to go."

For the second time in his life, Theodore found himself gaping at the Cat, staggered by the sheer, impossible magnitude of what he was saying.

"That's what I've been doing for the last three weeks, Theo," Chesh continued. "I've barely slept. I had to do something to atone for what I put you through. So now it's done, it's fixed, and he's never going to hurt anyone ever again. And now that you know, I'll get out of your life. You'll never have to see me again."

That snapped the Rabbit out of his daze.

"Don't you dare go _anywhere_!" he yelled. Startled, the Cat looked up. Theodore's red eyes were blazing.

"How can you do this to me? You disappear for three weeks and leave me on my own with nothing—I can't sleep, I'm barely eating, everything I see reminds me of you, and I can't walk through the Tulgey Wood without breaking down, and _you weren't there_—and now you come back saying that you've _fixed it_ and you're just going to disappear again—well, I won't have it!"

"You told me to go! You said—"

"I don't care what I said! I was scared, I didn't know what to do—I didn't want you to leave forever!"

"I thought you hated me!" Chesh cried.

"Why would I hate you?" Theodore shouted back.

"Because it's _my fault_, Theodore! Everything you've been through—everything that's happened to you—it's all been because of me, everything that's happened has been my fault—"

"It has _not_! Chesh, you saved me!"

"But I wouldn't have had to save you if I hadn't put you in that situation in the first place—"

"It's my own stupid fault I went hunting through the Wood for my watch—"

"_I'm not talking about the watch!_"

"Then what are you talking about?" the Rabbit asked, still confused, still bewildered, and losing ground fast—he had no idea where he stood anymore.

And then Chesh did something that shook his crumbling foundations out from under him and sent him spiralling into an abyss.

He started crying.

"I'm talking about this _world_, Theodore. Everything about Wonderland is the way it is because of me! Everything that's wrong about this place is wrong because I haven't fixed it yet! I'm the one who left the Caterpillar unattended, I'm the one who didn't root him out when I had the chance—and I've had years to do it, Theo, years, but I just never bothered—so it's my fault, because if I'd fixed him when I should have, if I'd been looking after my responsibilities, he never would have gone after you! I'm supposed to take care of this place, I'm the only one who can, and I haven't been, and you've been hurt because of it—"

"Chesh, no—please, that's ridiculous," Theodore cried. "You can't be expected to look after all of Wonderland—it's not your fault, Chesh, you're being absurd—"

"You think I'm being absurd?" the Cat snarled, looking up. His eyes were glowing with an eerie violet light. "Look at me, Theo! Have you ever seen another denizen with the level of power I have?"

"Chesh, please—"

"Answer me!"

"No—but you're the Cheshire Cat, of course you're the most powerful—"

"Exactly. And why is that, Theo? Why am I the highest ranking denizen when we have a _King_ and _Queen_? Why is a Cat the strongest force Wonderland has to offer, when by all rights I should just be a cat?"

"I—I don't know," Theodore said, suddenly uncertain. "That's just the way it is—"

"Right again. And you know why that is? Because I'm not just the Cheshire Cat, Theo. I'm more than that."

"What do you mean?"

And suddenly, all the fight seemed to go out of him. "Remember when I told you I didn't have a name?"

"Y-yes," the Rabbit said hesitantly, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. "But why does that have anything to do with...?"

"Because I lied, Theo," the Cat said wearily. "I do have a name. My name is Wonderland."


	7. Walk Long Enough

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Seven: **Walk Long Enough**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

_My name is Wonderland._

For a moment there was silence as the Cat's words echoed in the air. Dimly, Theodore realized just how absurd that was. There should have been a crash of thunder to back up that pronouncement.

When he finally collected himself enough to speak again, he could barely manage one word. "W—what...?"

His voice was weak, pathetic in its thinness.

"I am Wonderland, Theo," the Cat said quietly. "I am the idea of our realm given form. I am the agent through which it carries out its will. I am part of it and it is part of me."

No, that wasn't possible, it was just too much...

"It's possible, Theo. It's true. I know everything, I see everything. I am everything—and I am everywhere."

"No...," the Rabbit whispered. "No, it can't be true..."

"Yes, it can," the Cat said softly. "That's why I can disappear and reappear anywhere. That's why I know things I shouldn't. That's why I can change things and bend the world to my will. It's _me_, Theo... we're one and the same."

Chesh was talking, but Theodore wasn't listening. He couldn't listen. His head was whirling, puzzle pieces slotting together, the walls of the possible crumbling around him and reforming into new passageways. Everything fit. Everything fit, but it couldn't be true, because if it was true then the Cat was right—it _was_ his fault. He had hurt Theodore. It was as good as if he'd done it with his own hands.

"No!" he cried suddenly, shoving Chesh back with both hands. The Cat looked startled.

"It's not true, Chesh! It can't be true!" He was fighting back tears, struggling not to let it sink in. If he could just hold out long enough, Chesh would tell him it was a lie, he'd say it was a lie and he could hide in his arms and everything would be okay—

"It's true, Theo," the Cat said. There was no sharpness in his voice, nothing that could be considered anger or irritation or even denial—there was only an overwhelming guilt. "It's true, and I'm sorry."

And then suddenly the Rabbit felt his growing fear swamped by something hot and strong and unfamiliar. He latched onto it gratefully, using that strength to keep himself on his feet, and it was only when he embraced it that he realized what it was.

Anger.

"You _bastard_," he hissed.

The Cat's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to reply, but Theodore cut him off.

"You're sorry? That's the best you can come up with? You've let your realm go to waste, you've let your people destroy themselves, and you're _sorry_?"

For once in his life, the Cat looked too shocked to even answer.

"Why did you do it? How could you have let things get this bad? Did you just not care? Are you that heartless?"

"Theo, no—"

"Then what? Did you think it was fun? Did you like watching us lesser beings hurt each other and run in fear? Or was it more like a project? Studying all the ways people can go wrong?"

"No, Theo—I would never—"

"_Don't call me that!_"

For a moment, Chesh was silent. Theodore's scream still rang in his ears, still echoed off the nearby trees; the birds had been startled from their singing, and everything was eerily quiet, save for the Rabbit's rough breathing. The world was holding its breath, waiting for his answer.

"Nothing seemed to matter anymore," he said at last. "After I lost Benjamin... I just stopped trying. I couldn't fix him, Theodore, and I saw no reason to try to fix anything else. All I cared about was watching, playing games, waiting to see what would happen. The world stopped mattering to me. And slowly but surely, the world started to reflect that. The King, the Queen, the Hare, the Duchess, even the Caterpillar—all their little eccentricities were magnified and multiplied until they took over. They lost their empathy, they became increasingly unstable, they stopped caring about anything but their own amusements, they started to hate everyone. It was all a reflection of me—and I just didn't care."

Theodore stared at him, red eyes burning. "You said you didn't—"

"I know," Chesh cut in. "Just listen, please! Yes, I'd stopped caring, I'd become unstable and self-centred and I'd even started to hate—but then everything changed, Theodore! Everything is different now!"

"Why?" The Rabbit was guarded. He didn't want to trust the Cat again, but he had to hear the explanation.

"Because I met you!" Chesh was halfway between laughing and crying, hysterical enough that for the first time in his life, he really did seem mad. "I met you and I started to care again—suddenly I had someone I wanted to protect!"

"But you didn't! You didn't fix everything you ought, you didn't keep me safe—"

"I know!" the Cat yelled. "I know, and I'm _sorry_, Theodore! I can't say anything more than that—the past is over, and while I may be powerful, I'm not powerful enough to change it. But I can change the present, and I swear—I'll do whatever it takes! I'm not going to fuck this up again!"

The Rabbit was shaking—whether from nerves, anger, fear, or all three, he couldn't say. "It's your fault everything bad happened in the first place, Cat," he seethed. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I love you."

It was spoken evenly, steadily, with no uncertainty and nothing to prove, but Theodore found himself suddenly trembling anyway. Chesh met his eyes; there was no fear in them. No doubt.

"The night I saved you from the Caterpillar, I swore I would keep you safe," he said quietly. "I meant it."

Distantly, Theodore acknowledged that his knees were almost weak enough to give out, but he paid them no mind. His entire world had narrowed to the violet of the Cat's eyes.

"I'm going to keep protecting you," Chesh continued. "I'll do it from afar if that's what you want—but if you'll let me, I'd rather do it from your side."

"Chesh...," the Rabbit said.

"I really am sorry, Theo, more sorry than you could possibly know... but if you give me the chance, I think I can redeem myself."

Crying weakly, Theodore collapsed against his chest; the Cat's strong arms came around him, steadying him, and he found he could only cry harder.

"Don't ever leave," he begged, clinging to Chesh's shoulders. "Don't ever go—I need you, Chesh, I need you—"

"Shh," the Cat soothed, pressing his forehead down against the Rabbit's.

"I love you," Theodore sobbed.

Chesh made no reply except to tip the Rabbit's face up towards his, and before he could think, before he could even consider what he was doing, Theodore had pressed up against him, pressed his lips to the Cat's, and Chesh was pressing back, his tongue flooding into Theodore's mouth, his lips soft and hard against the Rabbit's at the same time, and it was everything he remembered and more, everything he had ever wanted, filling him up with a swelling joy and stealing his breath away all at once.

He lost himself in the kiss, sinking into it blissfully, feeling at last that, while he may not have come home yet, he was finally on his way.

* * *

Theodore shut the door gently behind him, then collapsed against it, a breathy smile playing across his lips. He wasn't sure how long he had stayed out on the front porch with Chesh, the two of them just silently holding each other—long enough for whatever was left of his dinner to have gone cold, certainly—but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. His lips still thrummed with the pressure of the Cat's kisses; when he lifted his hand to them, he wasn't surprised to find them sensitive and swollen. They felt softer—not the surface, but the flesh itself, almost as if they had been bruised. Just the brush of his fingers left him wanting more.

After what had happened with the Caterpillar, he had never thought he'd be lucky enough to taste Chesh's lips again. But now—

Now what?

He opened his eyes, biting his knuckle as he started absently at his striped wallpaper. Now—Chesh wanted him, didn't he?

Yes, of course he did. He'd kissed him. He'd said he loved him.

He'd kissed him for the first time months before, when they'd barely known each other a few hours. Kisses didn't prove anything.

Chesh had kissed the Hatter, too. He'd probably kissed a lot of people.

_Yes, but did he tell a lot of people he loved them?_ a little nagging voice asked from the back of his mind. Theodore pushed it aside, blinking back sudden tears.

Chesh might have said he loved him, but how long would it last?

Shoving himself away from the door in a sudden burst of restlessness, Theodore began pacing up and down his front hall, still chewing on his knuckle. Chesh might say he loved him, might be willing to kiss him, but there was no way he'd be willing to go farther than that. How could he, when anything more than what he'd already done had already been contaminated by the Caterpillar? It was getting easier to think about what had happened that night, but Theodore's skin still crawled with shudders every time he remembered that filthy touch. He could barely think about his own body for fear of dwelling on the defilement that clung to his own skin—how could he expect the Cat to look at him—to touch him—without thinking of it, too?

Chesh would be disgusted with him. Sooner or later, all his promises of love and protection wouldn't matter anymore.

And all Theodore could do was put off that day for as long as he could.

* * *

He didn't know what to think anymore.

Chesh had thought that with no more secrets, things might at last have settled with Theodore. So he had laid his cards on the table—and everything had, seemingly, gone very well. He had thought that was the end of it—that the Rabbit would stop being distant, would stop denying what was obviously true, would stop hiding, would smile again. But the very next morning, when the Cat had appeared in front of his house to take him to the Palace, Theodore had pulled back from his kisses—Theodore, who had pressed his lips so enthusiastically against the Cat's just the night before, had hesitated.

And now...

It seemed that the Rabbit was always busy, always working late, and even when he wasn't, he was tired and didn't seem to have time for him. Chesh knew that life at the Palace of Hearts was different from the way things were before—so maybe he really was expected to stay longer. Maybe he really did have more to get done. But after the third night of being told to come at seven and waiting until almost eight before he could take Theodore home, he had stopped showing up. Aside from one brief comment the next morning, the Rabbit barely seemed to have noticed.

Theodore had said he loved him. He'd practically begged him not to leave him alone.

So what was he missing?

* * *

"Come home early tonight."

He'd blurted the words without thinking as soon as they'd materialized on the front steps of the Palace, and now that they'd been said, he couldn't take them back. And, on further reflection, he didn't really want to. It was a good idea.

He wanted Theodore to himself for a while.

"Early?" the Rabbit said, blinking up at him, one hand still curled against the Cat's chest. "Why?"

"Because I want to see you more," Chesh said, leaning down to nuzzle into the side of the Rabbit's neck, just below his hairline. Theodore stiffened slightly, but he pretended not to notice. "We can have dinner together, and I'll stay for a while. Even overnight, if you'd like."

The Rabbit started trembling slightly. "I—I—I can't, Chesh, I have to work—there's so much to do—"

"Theo, please," the Cat said, pulling back to look into his eyes. Theodore looked away. "You've been working late every day for the two weeks."

"The Queen's ball is in eleven days, Chesh, I can't—"

"Why won't you look at me?"

Theodore froze in his arms, stammering. "Ah—I—it's just—"

"You keep pulling away," the Cat said. He was almost begging. "Why is it so hard to be alone with me?" His unspoken question hung in the air between them. _You do love me, right?_

"It's not," Theodore said weakly. "I just—I have to work, I can't come home early—"

"Then I'll stay the night. Please, Theo—"

"No!"

Chesh stopped, staring. Theodore looked just ask shocked as he felt, as if he couldn't believe that the word had come from his own mouth.

And then suddenly Chesh understood. The Caterpillar.

Of course that's what it was. How had he not seen it before? As much as he might like to pretend it had never happened, Theodore had suffered a traumatic experience at the hands of Evan Savage. He had almost been raped—and here Chesh was trying to push him into letting him stay the night. No wonder he didn't want to be alone with him. The Cat had been lucky to even get the chance to kiss him, and he was already pressuring for more. The guilt he had thought he'd finally left behind swamped him again.

He let go.

"No," he said. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll let you get to work. Do you want me to come pick you up tonight?"

Theodore hesitated. "N-no... I'll just be late again."

"It's okay," Chesh said, trying to smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Y-yeah..."

The Cat stepped back before he could change his mind, thumbs hooking into his waistband. "Have a good day," he said. Theodore blinked up at him.

He disappeared. He didn't see the stricken look Theodore sent after him, the outstretched hand he raised as if to call him back. He didn't see the tear that fell silently down the Rabbit's cheek. Theodore was left staring after him, heart thumping in his ears.

Chesh had left without a kiss goodbye.

* * *

By the time he was finished work, Theodore was a wreck. Once the King and Queen had become stable again, he had begun to think that his days of leaving the Palace shaking and terrified were over, but fate, apparently, had other plans. The only difference this time was the source.

Chesh hadn't kissed him. Why hadn't he kissed him? Was it because Theodore didn't want to let him stay the night? Or was he already starting to get sick of him? Theodore hadn't seen revulsion in the Cat's eyes when he backed away, but he was the Cheshire Cat—who was to say he couldn't make him see whatever he wanted?

Mary Ann had already finished his dinner and left by the time he made it home; though it smelled delicious, he barely picked at it, his thoughts consumed by Chesh. When he finally gave up on eating and stumbled up to bed, it was all he could do not to collapse in tears. It was falling apart already, and it had barely been two weeks.

"Chesh," he whispered, hoping the Cat couldn't hear him, praying that he would. "Chesh, if you can hear me, I need you."

But the Cat didn't appear, and Theodore finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

It was a drained and haggard Rabbit that greeted the dawn the next morning. Despite his early bedtime, sleep hadn't done him any good. His emotions had run down. He dressed in silence, woodenly making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. His hands were shaking as he set the kettle to heat over the stove.

"You're sad."

It was a mark of how tired Theodore was that he wasn't even startled. He turned.

The Cat had appeared next to the window, hands twisting in front of him. He looked like he'd just woken up.

"You're sad," he repeated. "I could feel it in the air. What's wrong?"

To his surprise, Theodore felt an uncharacteristic flare of anger alight in his chest. Chesh hadn't come when he wanted him last night, but now he'd appear out of nowhere to check up on him?

"Nothing," he snapped, turning back to his cupboards. "Nothing's wrong."

"Theo, don't do this, please," the Cat begged. "You were fine when I left you yesterday. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, you were miserable. What happened?"

The flush of embarrassment joined the anger already tinting Theodore's cheeks. If Chesh had been sleeping when the Rabbit had called for him, then he had no reason to be upset with him. But that thought just made him feel more defensive. Chesh was the one drawing away from him, and he had the nerve to ask what was wrong?

"You should know what happened. You did it."

"Well, for whatever I've done, I'm sorry!" Chesh snapped. "Now will you tell me what the fuck it was?"

"Don't act like you're confused!" Theodore said, rounding on him. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, Chesh said nothing. Then he jerked away, clenching his fists so tightly that his claws cut into his palms.

"Fine!" the Cat cried. His claws were red, his hands welling with blood. "Fine! I get it! I pushed too far and you can't deal with it. You should have just told me you didn't want me!"

"I don't want you?" the Rabbit asked, voice suddenly shaking as he clutched at the counter to steady himself. Why was Chesh so good at putting him off balance? "W-what are you talking about?"

"You keep pulling away!" Chesh said, and Theodore could see now that there were tears in his eyes. "Whenever I suggest anything more than a kiss, you draw back! I know what you've been through, Theo, but I'm not like him—and if you don't want me, or if you can't deal with me wanting you, you should have said something instead of letting me think I had a chance! I'm sorry that I asked too much, but if you don't want me suggesting it I need to know!"

"I'm not saying you can't—I didn't want—you were the one who wouldn't kiss me!" the Rabbit cried. "And now you're saying I don't want you—I don't understand, Chesh—"

"I was trying to give you some space—"

"—I thought you didn't want me!"

The kitchen was silent for a moment save for Theodore's shuddering breaths and the simmer of the heating kettle. Chesh took a step forward.

"That's what upset you?" he asked hesitantly.

"What else would it have been?" the Rabbit sobbed. "You didn't kiss me and I got scared—I'm so scared, Chesh, I keep thinking you're not going to—"

And suddenly the Cat was there, arms wrapped around the trembling Rabbit, rocking him softly and stroking his hair. "Shh... okay. It's okay, Theo..."

"You promised you wouldn't leave," Theodore whispered, clutching at him.

"And I won't," Chesh soothed. "I think you'd better tell me what you're scared of."

The Rabbit whimpered. "I feel so unclean," he said, his voice as raw as if he'd been screaming. "The Caterpillar put his hands all over me and I feel so dirty, Chesh, every time I think about it—and now you're here and I don't understand how you can want me when he left me so... _contaminated_. Every time you get close to me I'm scared that you're going to remember that, and you're going to pull away with disgust on your face, and I couldn't bear that, Chesh—I'd rather have you like this than not at all—"

"Theo," the Cat said, cutting him off. The tension was seeping out of his shoulders, and when the Rabbit looked up at him, he was smiling faintly. "You don't disgust me, Theo. What the Caterpillar did has nothing to do with the way I feel about you, and it never will."

"Then why didn't you kiss me?" Theodore asked weakly.

The Cat's Cheshire grin only grew, and he tipped his head down to cover Theodore's mouth with his own. "Because I thought I was upsetting you," he said when he finally pulled away. The Rabbit's eyes fluttered open, blinking up at him. "I thought you were scared because you didn't feel ready yet, and I felt guilty for wanting sex when you'd almost been raped. I thought you were tense around me because the way I was touching you reminded you of him."

Theodore looked up at him in surprise. "You're nothing like him!"

"I know," Chesh said, nuzzling into his neck. "Theo... I want you. I really, truly do. You're not contaminated, you're not unclean, and I am not and will never be disgusted by your body." He pulled back, letting out a deep breath. "And I'd like the chance to prove it to you."

The Rabbit suddenly felt short of breath. "O—okay...," he whispered, hesitant, but unable to look away.

"I'll come by tonight, after you've finished work and had a chance to eat," Chesh said, brushing his hand over Theodore's cheek; his hands had already healed, the magic of Wonderland looking after its lord. "I'd like to take you somewhere that no other creature in Wonderland has ever been."

"Where is it?"

The Cat smiled. "My home."

* * *

After the Cat had dropped him off that morning, Theodore's nerves went into overdrive, but this time, it was the good kind of nerves—anticipation and eagerness, shot through with flashes of nervousness and desire. He was jittery all day, running anytime he had to get anywhere; eventually the Queen got tired of almost banging into him as she went around the corner and sent him off to deliver messages, checking up on the progress of everyone who was working to keep the organization of the ball running smoothly. It was busywork, but he didn't mind. At least it took up time.

Chesh showed up fifteen minutes after he'd finished his dinner, as promised. He smiled at the Rabbit like he could see his nervousness written on his face—and knowing him, he probably could. Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and Theodore took it, fingers trembling with excitement.

"Are you ready?" the Cat asked, his voice low. Theodore nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Chesh smiled again, pulling him against his chest, and the Rabbit sucked in a giddy breath. Before he had let it out, they had materialized again.

They were standing in front of a giant tree, surrounded by forest on all sides. From his place in the Cat's arms, Theodore stared up at it; it wasn't much taller than the rest of the trees, but it was the biggest around he had ever seen in his life. Higher up in the branches were several large, circular gaps into the darkness at the centre of the trunk, and in front of them the pattern of knots in the wood looked peculiarly like it would open.

"Where are we?" he whispered, hesitant to break the expectant hush that surrounded them.

"The heart of the Tulgey Wood," the Cat replied, equally softly. "The centre of the centre. My home."

Chesh moved forward, guiding the Rabbit with an arm around his shoulders, and Theodore wasn't surprised to see the bark peel back to let them in. The lamps inside lit up with a welcoming glow as soon as the Cat stepped under the lintel, the light flickering warm and buttery over the polished oak walls, and the Rabbit looked around, taking in everything that made up the Cat's life. It was small, but not claustrophobic, filled with soft chairs and thick blankets, the walls decorated with framed paintings and shelves full of curiosities—a bottle of coloured sand, an antique lock, a model of a ship, pressed flowers, a glittering stone, the skull of a bird. A solid bookshelf circled half the wall, filled to overflowing with notebooks and novels and heavy tomes written in foreign languages.

The Cat led him by the hand up a spiral staircase; it climbed through the centre of the tree, splitting off here and there into other rooms—a cluttered kitchen, a comfortable study, a small bathroom with half the room taken up by a carved bathtub sunk into the floor. At the top of the stairs there was a tiny landing and two doors; Chesh pulled him through the first one and closed it quietly behind them. The room inside was small, much smaller than the one downstairs, and the ceiling curved over them in ripples and natural knots. There was just enough room for a wardrobe, a nightstand, a shelf—and against the far wall, a wooden-framed bed.

"Chesh," the Rabbit said softly, looking up at him.

The Cat's eyes were warm and understanding. "It's okay to be nervous, Theo," he said, lifting his hand to press a kiss to the Rabbit's palm. "As long as you're sure you want this."

Theodore bit his lip, sucking in a shuddery breath at the feeling of the Cat's mouth against sensitive skin. "I... I want it." He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. "Do you?"

"I do," Chesh whispered, his voice husky. "I want it very much."

And then the Cat's mouth was on his and his hands were on his waist, fingers sliding under his vest and pulling his shirt from the waistband of his trousers—Theodore could feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers, could feel his claws as they pressed against his skin, and he melted into Chesh's mouth, hands gripping his chest and his shoulders and his neck and sliding into his hair. The Cat turned him easily, letting him settle on the bed, lips dropping to the curve of his jaw and pressing gently pulling kisses down the side of his neck as his dextrous hands undid his tie, his vest, his shirt. Theodore dropped his arms, letting him go just long enough to toss his clothes aside, and then Chesh pushed him back, bending over him to trail kisses down his body. The Rabbit arched back with a sharp gasp as the Cat's mouth closed around a nipple.

Oh, god, he hadn't known lips could feel that good—

"Chesh," he gasped, fingers threading into the Cat's hair, rubbing at the bases of his ears—his skin was on fire, every touch was fire, and his head was spinning—he had lost his glasses somewhere, but they didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was the roughness of Chesh's tongue and the softness of his hair and the warmth of his body. The Rabbit let out a moan and he was almost surprised that his throat could make that kind of sound, and then Chesh pulled away, discarding his gloves, his collar, the flimsy fishnet thing he called a shirt, and Theodore looked up just in time to see him slide his striped pants from his hips—his length already flushed and hard—

"Chesh," he whined, reaching for him with desire twisting in his belly, but then he hesitated and—

And the Cat's hand was on the button of his trousers, his breath was on his throat, and his mouth was murmuring, forming sounds against his skin—

"I'm yours," he moaned. "I'm yours to touch."

Theodore let out a choked cry, hips arching up against the Cat's touch, and his hand wrapped around him—he heard Chesh groan, felt him buckle above him, and then his own pants were gone, his underwear was gone—Chesh was stroking him—

Had he been thinking clearly to remark on it, he would have observed that this was nothing like the Caterpillar's touch. Chesh's hand was soft and dry, warm with the pulse of his pounding heartbeat; his touch was gentle, seeming to know all the perfect places to caress and rub and tease, and his fingers felt so good against his skin, so right—

As it was, he was in no condition to do anything but scream.

The Cat let out another moan, his lips pressing into Theodore's jaw; he shifted, letting him go and reaching for something on the nightstand, sitting up. Theodore opened his eyes, dazed and wanting, missing Chesh's touch, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was a soft whine.

"Just give me a moment," Chesh said, his voice low and raw. He was pouring something on his fingers, something that glistened faintly yellow, and the Rabbit's sensitive nose twitched, smelling a sweet, fragrant oil—and then the Cat dropped his hand and he stopped thinking, because Chesh's fingers were inside him, slipping easily in and out with the coating of oil, and he bit back a yelp of surprise and pain and desire, desire at the pleasure he could now feel spiralling outward from Chesh's touch, making his head spin and his hips jolt.

And then the Cat's hand was gone and his hips were beneath him and he was pressing forward—Chesh was inside him—

He forgot everything else, letting out a sharp cry as he arched towards the ceiling. His legs had come up, wrapping around the Cat's hips, and Chesh was leaning over him, bracing himself on one elbow, his other hand sliding down Theodore's side to squeeze his rear, pulling his body closer—and then he started moving, and the Rabbit's entire world narrowed to the man above him, the warm, strong, powerful body rocking against his, the lips on his throat and the mewls and groans the Cat was making against his skin.

"Ahh-hahh—Chesh—" he cried, knotting his fingers into his hair, his hands moving in time with the strokes of the Cat's hips, the thrusts he was eagerly meeting—he had never felt anything as good as this—

"Theo—fuck—" Chesh moaned, scraping his tongue up the Rabbit's neck to the hollow beneath his jaw, sucking and licking, and Theodore could tell there was a bruise there but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when the Cat's every touch and every movement sent him whirling, set his mind reeling with pleasure so that all he could to was moan and whimper and move back against him—

"You're so beautiful, Theo—"

And then the Cat's hips shifted and the Rabbit's world exploded into a white-hot blaze, and he cried out in desire and wanting and _need_—he couldn't stop now if he wanted to, he was hanging by a thread, and dimly he felt Chesh's hand wrap around him as he sped up, and his hips jolted back against him, every stroke sending his mind spinning in ecstasy—

"Ah, ahh—Chesh, Chesh, please—oh god oh god oh god fuck!"

And then his vision went dark and he screamed—the fire was in his nerves, in his blood, and it was racing through his body in waves and it felt _so good_, and he could feel the spasms of Chesh's body as he reached his peak, howling his release—

He spilled himself over the Cat's hand as his hips jerked violently against him, spiralling up to the greatest high he had ever reached.

Chesh collapsed against him, and, dazed, he opened his eyes, fingers loosening, gradually releasing the Cat's hair. His entire body tingled and his hips felt pleasantly numb.

Chesh looked up, a sated smile on his face; gently, he reached up, smoothing the Rabbit's damp curls back from his face.

"You're beautiful when you let yourself go," he whispered, nuzzling into Theodore's jaw.

The Rabbit couldn't think to say anything—he was so overwhelmed with happiness and love and relief. Chesh saw nothing dirty on his body. Chesh wanted him. He had proved it beyond a shadow of doubt.

"Thank you," Theodore whispered, tears of joy dropping softly and silently from his cheeks.

Chesh smiled, catching his lips in a deep, soft kiss. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too," Theodore breathed, closing his eyes.

He fell asleep with the Cat curled around him, the thick, downy quilts enfolding them both.

For the first time in a very long time, he did not dream.


	8. When You Come to the End

**Asylum** by Tchy

Chapter Eight: **When You Come to the End**

Warning: Male/male romance, some sexual content, trigger warning for non-con. Don't like? Please avoid.

* * *

Theodore awoke to the morning sunlight, soft beams gently caressing his face. For a moment, he was disoriented, not recognizing the plushness of the bed or the thick quilts wrapped around him, but then he shifted and a shudder crawled down his spine at the weakness of his hips and everything came rushing back. With a soft moan, he forced himself to sit up, only one thought on his mind.

He had to find Chesh.

The Cat wasn't in the bed next to him, and for a moment Theodore thought Chesh had left, before he realized how absurd that thought was. He had to be in the house somewhere.

The Rabbit swung his legs down off the side of the bed, fighting not to let his knees buckle when he stood. Sometime this morning, or possibly last night, Chesh had collected up Theodore's scattered clothes and left them folded neatly on the nearby nightstand, but the Rabbit didn't want to get dressed just yet, at least not properly—so he picked his glasses up off the top of the pile, and, setting them on his nose, made his way over to the wardrobe against the opposite wall.

The first time he opened it, it was empty. Frowning slightly—he was sure that couldn't be right—he closed it and pulled it open again. This time it was full of tight pants in Chesh's typical style, revealing shirts, and the occasional jacket, in various colours and shades, most of them striped, all of them completely inappropriate for Theodore to wear. The next time he opened it it was full of formal suits, some of them far more elaborate than what the Rabbit was used to wearing, and that was a little better but if he wanted to wear a suit he might as well just put his own back on, and so he closed the door again and pulled it open and this time he found rows of sweaters, loose cotton pants, and billowing short-sleeved shirts—and, hanging on the door, a warm dressing gown in muted shades of dark purple, the fabric softer than anything he had ever felt before, and so sensual that it was all he could do not to shiver when he pulled it on.

He found the Cat in the kitchen, cooking eggs on the stove while toast browned on a rack on the back burner. He had pulled on a pair of loose pyjama pants, but his chest was bare, and all Theodore could think of was running his hands up the sculpted muscle of his back. The Rabbit didn't realize he had stopped in the open doorway, staring, until Chesh turned to look at him with a smile and beckoned him into the room.

"You look sweet," the Cat said, putting his free arm around Theodore as the Rabbit stepped into the circle of his arms. "My wardrobe didn't give you too much trouble?"

"What?" the Rabbit said, distracted by the warm skin under his fingertips. "Oh. No, it was fine."

The Cat chuckled. "That's good. It can be a little temperamental at times." He leaned down, kissing Theodore's forehead. "Tea's on the table, if you want it..."

"Mh," the Rabbit said, just tucking closer to him.

Chesh laughed softly. "Look at you. I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed."

Theodore turned his head, pressing his face into the Cat's shoulder. "I don't feel relaxed. I feel... like I'm buzzing..."

Chesh shut the stove off, turning to look down at him, but Theodore wasn't paying attention, too busy tracing patterns down his chest.

"I feel like... there's a magnet inside my blood, and it won't stop pulling me towards you," he said, his voice hushed. "I feel like every time you get near me my body starts thrumming... I can't think straight... you're the only thing in my mind..." His searching fingers were tracing down the Cat's stomach now, outlining the shape of his muscles, before sliding down to his waistband, almost absently.

"My head feels so hazy...," he whispered.

Without a word, Chesh tipped his head back, fingers threading into his hair, and kissed him deeply. The Rabbit pressed back up against him, a soft moan escaping his throat as his pulse jumped into overdrive, his entire body flushing with heat. The Cat was so close to him, so strong, and then Theodore's robe was open and he could feel Chesh's body against his skin, and he couldn't remember if he had left it like that himself or if the Cat had undone it but as far as he was concerned it didn't matter—

And then Chesh broke away suddenly, breathing hard, his fingers trembling as he buried his face in the Rabbit's soft curls.

"Chesh—"

"We don't have time for this," the Cat said, fingers stroking through Theodore's hair, pressing kisses to his crown. "You haven't eaten yet, and I need to take you home so you can get changed before you go to work."

"I don't want to go to work. I want to stay here with you."

"Theo," Chesh said, his tone scolding, even though there was a smile in his voice. "Just the other day you told me you couldn't come home early because you had too much work to do."

"I don't care," Theodore whined, pressing closer to his lover, and for a moment he felt the Cat's breath hitch. "Chesh, please...!"

"No," Chesh said finally, after a long pause. "You have to go to work, Theo. As much as you might like to, you know you can't skip work for something like this."

"But—"

"I promise, I'll be there to pick you up at six," the Cat said, smiling fondly as he brushed the Rabbit's hair back from his forehead. "Once you're done work, we can come back here and you'll have me to yourself all night."

"But I want you now," Theodore said, pressing forwards again.

For a moment, the Cat seemed to be warring with himself, desire battling against practicality, but in the end his emotions won out. "All right. But we have to be quick."

Theodore felt his pulse throb as excitement flooded through him, and he nodded rapidly, willing to agree with anything Chesh said if it meant he could stay just a little bit longer.

A flash of a smirk crossed the Cat's face at Theodore's eagerness, and then his arms were around the Rabbit's waist, lifting him up, moving him back to set him down on the edge of the kitchen table. Theodore was shaking with nerves and anticipation, looking down at the Cat with undisguised lust in his eyes, so overcome he was unable to speak.

"Just try to relax," Chesh said. He was between the Rabbit's legs now, one knee resting on the seat of a chair, gripping Theodore's hips with both hands as he leaned over him to start trailing kisses down his chest. Theodore gasped, just nodding again as he buried one hand in Chesh's hair.

"Chesh, please—"

"Shh," the Cat whispered against his stomach, pressing a sucking kiss just below his navel. "I'm not going to leave you wanting."

Theodore opened his mouth to reply, then shut it abruptly when he felt a breath of warm air ghost down his length. His gaze dropped; Chesh was looking back at him, a wicked smirk playing over his lips, his mouth only inches away from the source of the heat now spiralling through Theodore's body. The Rabbit was unable to tear his eyes away.

"Chesh," he whined, his tone very different from that of a moment before.

Just smirking wider, the Cat opened his mouth and took him between his lips.

Theodore moaned at first, then screamed, writhing under the Cat's clever tongue until he finally quieted, as behind him their morning tea grew cold on the Cat's kitchen table.

* * *

When Theodore walked into the Palace of Hearts that morning, he found the servants in a state of high activity. Maids were rushing about carrying bed linens and chamber pots and who knew what else; page boys where delivering messages left and right, constantly underfoot; a crowd of footmen hurried past at one point, one—who looked suspiciously like a frog—wearing his tunic backwards. Theodore encountered at least three collisions on his way to the King's study, and narrowly avoided being involved in one himself more than once. It was with a sigh of relief that he reached the relative safety of the study, though it didn't last long.

"Ah, excellent, Darwin, you're here," the King of Hearts said distractedly from behind his desk, where he was hurriedly scribbling out a long proclamation on a scroll of parchment. "As soon as I'm done with this you'll be taking it down to the front steps to read it out—the Queen and I will of course be at the top of the stairs waiting to greet them royally—"

"Them?" Theodore asked, bewildered. "What am I reading out, your Majesty?"

"Why, the announcement, Darwin, the introduction, of course! Do hurry, we're running out of time—" The King was blowing on the parchment now, already starting to roll up the top half.

"Whose introduction, your Majesty?" the Rabbit asked, growing more lost by the second.

"The visiting royalty, Darwin!" the King cried, stuffing the scroll into Theodore's hands. "The Red Queen and King from Looking Glass Land! They've reached the Tulgey Wood already and the White monarchs and their entourage aren't far behind!"

Theodore thought back. Dimly, he recalled hearing something about messengers being organized to invite foreign nobility to the ball, but he had had no hand in it and the last month had been so hectic that he barely remembered whether or not it had actually happened. Well, evidently it must have, because they were arriving now, but the frenzy of organizing the ball was rather far from being the foremost thing on Theodore's mind at that moment. Much closer to the top were the thoughts of all the interesting things he was thinking about doing with a certain warm, sun-kissed body.

The sun would certainly not be the only thing that had kissed the Cat's body by the time he was done—

"Darwin!" cried the King, jolting Theodore from his reverie. "We're late!"

Theodore had always hated to be late. He bolted.

* * *

By the end of the day it had become clear to not only Theodore, but to everyone else around him as well, that the Rabbit was very distracted that day.

He could barely remember reading out the Red monarchs' introduction. He was sure he must have fumbled somewhere, but he couldn't recall what parts. He also had the vague memory that the King of Hearts' hasty scribbling had smeared some of the words, but which ones they had been and what he had said in their place would forever remain a mystery to him. He was certain that the Red Queen was very upright and proper, and equally convinced that the Red King seemed to be practically sleepwalking—and in fact would have been outright sleeping if not for the aid a knight in outlandish red armour—but the events that had led him to forming these impressions were all a blur.

The arrival of the White monarchs was no better. There had been something about a sheep, he was sure—it had been following the White Queen for some reason, and had caused a bit of a stir—but all he could remember was being grateful that it had taken the spotlight off him for a few moments. The Queen herself had also seemed very distracted and scattered; of the King, he had no recollection, beyond that he had been holding the hand of a young girl in a glittering tiara. The only moment that stood out with astonishing clarity was his first view of the White King's manservants, who looked so much like the Mad Hatter and the March Hare that they might have been their twins, and in fact the Rabbit mistook them for the Wonderland denizens at first. But they were dressed in the White monarchs' livery, and showed none of the Hare's snobbishness or the Hatter's absent-minded daze, and so despite watching them with a touch of wary confusion, Theodore let it go.

After that, the day dissolved into chaos. It fell to the Rabbit to ensure that the monarchs and their various entourages were settled in properly and had the necessary supplies and servants to live in the manner to which they were accustomed. Still he seemed unable to keep his mind on the task at hand, and more than once he tripped over something or stepped on one of the pins the White Queen seemed to be shedding everywhere she went. The Red Queen took it upon herself to scold him, but the content of her lecture had slipped his mind almost before she finished speaking. At one point the King of Hearts pulled him aside to ask him what had gotten into him; he explained it away by saying he hadn't slept much the night before, which was partly true, and that he was looking forward to getting to bed that night, which was definitely true. The King was unsatisfied with his answer, but Theodore refused to go into more detail—and neglected to mention whose bed, precisely, he was looking forward to getting into—and so eventually he was released to go back to organizing a large-scale croquet game that the Queen wanted to host for her guests.

By five o'clock, he was interrupting himself every few minutes to check the time—his most extensive use of his pocket watch since getting it back from Chesh. By quarter to five he was getting so jumpy that the King finally snapped at him and ordered him out of the study. Not wasting another minute, Theodore bolted for the front door, where he waited in agony for the slowest thirteen minutes of his life before the Cheshire Cat finally—finally—appeared to take him home. The knowing smile the Cat gave him just before Theodore threw himself into his arms and covered it with his own lips left no doubts that Chesh knew exactly what state the Rabbit had been in all day, but Theodore couldn't bring himself to care.

"Missed me that much, did you?" the Cat purred when his lips were finally released.

"Oh, god, I couldn't _think_ all day," Theodore groaned, pressing his face against the Cat's collar. He was already trembling with anticipation. "Please, let's go—_now_—"

Chesh just laughed. "Whatever anyone else says about you," he said, wrapping his arms around Theodore as the world faded out around them, "never let them argue that you don't behave _just_ like a rabbit."

* * *

Not five days later, Theodore was already thinking longingly of the end of the ball, when they would be able to send their royal guests home. He had grown used to the isolation of the Palace of Hearts in the days of the King and Queen's troubles, and was only just now adjusting to the newfound bustle of everyday life; adding four dozen unfamiliar faces and a handful of royal egos was simply too much to deal with.

The Kings, at least, weren't too much trouble. They both seemed to be fairly slow-moving, absentminded gentlemen; the Red King was often sleeping, and the White King, despite having the perplexing habit of getting himself into the most out-of-the-way rooms in the Palace, seemed content to just sit and make notes in the journal he carried with him at all times. No, it was the Queens he was having trouble with.

The White Queen, at least, didn't mean any harm. She was even more distractible and absent-minded than her husband, and always seemed to be losing her way or dropping her things or pinning her clothes on backwards—still, after having ordered a search of the rose gardens when she had got herself lost for the third day running, it was hard to feel especially charitable towards her.

The Red Queen, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. She was not unkind, but was extremely prone to lectures and scoldings on the etiquette of anyone and everyone she came across. Stern and extremely capable, she insisted on getting things done herself, and getting things done right. To the servants of the Palace of Hearts, who were used to being left to their own devices for the most part, her intrusion into the order of things was unwelcome at best, and it was often Theodore who had to soothe ruffled tempers.

And then there were their entourages.

On top of the White King's two manservants, who seemed to be taking messages all over the Palace at a constant rate, there were also a pair of unruly footmen who looked rather like fat schoolboys, the sheep that insisted on following the White Queen about, and a Unicorn who was constantly getting out of the stables—particularly when the cook had set a pudding to cool on the window sill. Then there was the Red Knight, who was boisterous and rather given to tipsiness; a pompous scholar with a head like an egg, who the Rabbit had gathered was part of the Red Queen's retinue; a large crow, who seemed to delight in tormenting the White King's fat footmen—and Theodore could have sworn he had seen a Lion prowling around the Palace one night. Lily, the White Princess, seemed to be constantly exploring and getting underfoot; the White Queen's elderly Knight, though kindly, had a penchant for inventing strange things and was constantly trying to improve the Palace's machinery. All in all, it was making Theodore rather thankful that the worst he usually had to deal with was the Queen of Hearts.

And after five days of dealing with this, he decided, a long break for luncheon was certainly in order.

He had tucked himself into an out-of-the-way back corner of the labyrinthine rose garden—so far off the main path that a yellow rose bush, of all things, had been allowed to flourish, unmolested by terrified gardeners wielding paintbrushes. He found it to be a quite pleasant change from the usual blood red, and so sat down on the patch of grass just beneath it to eat his lunch, breathing in the soft scent. He had finished his cucumber sandwiches already and was just on the point of beginning to entertain the idea of getting back to work—a thought that didn't appeal to him in the slightest—when he felt a light touch on his shoulder.

Startled, a flash of panic jolting through him, he catapulted forward, scrambling away—he had been positive no one would come this far into the garden! And if it was found out that he was avoiding work—

A familiar laugh sounded behind him as he heard its owner settle himself down onto the grass. "It's been a while since you've had that reaction to me showing up."

"Chesh!" he exclaimed, unable to think of anything better. "Don't startle me like that!"

"My apologies," said the Cat, bowing as grandly as he could from his place on the grass. "Will you sit back down now?"

Ruffled feathers soothed somewhat, Theodore dropped back down next to him, tucking himself under the Cat's outstretched arm. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you might appreciate a bit of a break," Chesh said, adjusting the Rabbit's tie. "The Palace hasn't exactly been a relaxing work environment lately, and I'm sure you're stressed."

Now that he was over his surprise, and with the Cat so near, Theodore's skin was starting to prickle in quite a different way. "I know how you could help me with that...," he said, trailing off, one hand skimming down the Cat's forearm.

"Really," Chesh said. He sounded almost amused.

"Mhmm," Theodore said, gently pushing the Cat down onto his back, climbing over him. "No one will find us here..."

Chesh settled his hands on the Rabbit's hips, almost without thinking. There was something like surprise in his gaze when he met Theodore's eyes. "No, they won't... you're right..."

"Well, then... if you want to help me relieve some stress," the Rabbit said, tracing his fingertips down the Cat's chest, "what is there to stop you?"

Chesh stared up at him, violet eyes going dark with lust. "Nothing," he said, voice soft.

"Good," said the Rabbit, arching his hips down against the Cat's.

Chesh's breath hitched, and he let out a low chuckle. "Damn, Theodore... when did you get so bold?"

"Around the same time you taught me how to relax."

"You don't want to relax," the Cat said, halfway between laughing and gasping. "You're just horny."

"And you're not?" Theodore said, pressing his hips down again.

"Point—nhh." Chesh smirked up at him, licking his lips, hands creeping around his hips to unfasten the front of his trousers. "But you've got to get back to work soon... better make it quick."

The Rabbit didn't bother to reply, shifting up to his knees to get at the waistband of the Cat's pants. Chesh moaned softly, lifting his hips to help as Theodore tugged them down just enough to free him. With one brief moment of concentration, the bottle of oil from his bedroom materialized in his palm, and he pushed himself up on one elbow to uncap it and drip some over his fingers, slicking himself up. A sharp whine brought his attention back to the Rabbit; Theodore had finished what the Cat had started, his trousers around his knees, and his eyes were desperately hungry.

"Chesh," he whimpered, reaching for him.

The Cat let out a low groan, guiding him forward, and, breath coming short, Theodore crawled over him, sinking down with a soft cry. Chesh could feel himself tightening, pushing up into that dizzy heat, his back arched, his hips rocking, and then the Rabbit started moving back against him and it was all he could do not to cry out. His dazed eyes were focused on that beautiful pale body above him—he was so taken with Theodore, so deeply in love, and in these moments nothing mattered but him, nothing mattered but the love and trust and _feeling_ between them—

"Theo—oh, fuck—"

He heard the Rabbit's answering cry, felt Theodore's fingers dig into his ribcage, and he tightened his grip on his hips, pulling him closer, deeper, as their rhythm built. Theodore was shaking now, shuddering as he drove himself down against the Cat, and Chesh responded in kind, moaning at the heat and the pressure and the depth—he could feel the Rabbit's every motion, every touch, and his blood thrilled to it, pounding through him at a frantic pace—he was so close, rushing faster towards the edge with every second—

His head was spinning, he couldn't hold on any longer—

"Theo—ahh, ah—fuck!"

"Chesh, please—"

He was burning up—

"Chesh, please come—!"

With a sharp cry and a sudden jolt, he reached his limit, slamming into the wall so fast it left him breathless—he was shuddering, his body wracked with spasms as he spilled himself for his love—

"Ahh—Theo!"

The Rabbit screamed then, tightening around him, his body jerking, and Chesh gripped him firmly, pumping him until he was sure he was spent, and then they both collapsed onto the grass, arms wrapped around each other in bliss.

After a few moments, Theodore stirred, sitting up stiffly, and the Cat opened his eyes. The Rabbit was fastening his trousers. Smiling, Chesh sat up, arms wrapping around him for a moment before tugging the rest of his clothes back into order.

"Feeling better?" he asked, kissing the back of Theodore's neck.

"Mmm," the Rabbit sighed, sinking into his hold. "Much. Thank you."

"Anytime," Chesh said, turning Theodore's head to kiss him properly. "You'd better get back to work."

"Yeah," the Rabbit said, detaching himself slowly from the Cat's arms. "I love you."

"I love you too. I'll see you tonight."

Theodore nodded, a smile tugging at his lips, and disappeared around a wall of rosebushes. Humming, the Cat climbed to his feet, sliding his pants back onto his hips, the mess vanishing with a wave of his hand. Looking up then, he noticed for the first time that the bush they had been sitting next to was decorated not with the Queen's favourite red roses, but with flowers of a bright sunny yellow.

"Hm," he said, a smile breaking over his face. "How unusual. These must be the only yellow flowers in the whole garden."

When Theodore got home that evening, he discovered on his kitchen table a vase he had never seen before, containing a single yellow rose.

* * *

"I don't know when I'll be able to leave work tomorrow night," Theodore murmured sleepily.

The Cat shifted against him, lifting himself up on one elbow. "That's right, the ball is tomorrow, isn't it?" His voice was quiet; they were both hesitant to break the nighttime hush that hung over the Tulgey Wood.

"Mhm..."

"It doesn't matter," Chesh said, leaning down to press a kiss to the Rabbit's temple. "I'll be there with you, so we can spend the night together anyway."

"You don't have an invitation," Theodore mumbled, not sounding like he cared at all.

"I've never had an invitation, but I haven't missed a ball yet." The Cat stretched out again, tucking Theodore's back against his chest, and the Rabbit snuggled into him happily, closing his eyes.

"Besides," Chesh added, nuzzling into Theodore's hair, "that way, when you do want to go home, you won't have to wait for me."

"And you can be my stress relief."

Chesh chuckled. "That too."

"Okay," Theodore sighed, smiling softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, Theo."

The Rabbit was already asleep.

* * *

Compared to the week running up to the ball, the event itself was almost peaceful. Of course, it wasn't going to last, but Theodore was determined to enjoy it while he still could.

When the ball had started, he had been up by the front door, announcing the entrance of the nobility, but now that royalty was inside and the Duchess, the March Hare, the Mad Hatter, and the Dormouse had arrived, he had been allowed to move. Now the Rabbit was stationed near the back of the room, supervising the comings and goings of the servants as they supplied hors d'oeuvres and circulated with trays of champagne glasses. So far he had averted any major collisions, and things seemed to be going well, despite their incessant arguments over which direction it would be better to circulate in. He had stopped listening to that and simply designated one door as the entrance to the kitchen and the other as the exit, and then stood back to observe.

Most of the guests seemed to have arrived already; the thin trickle that was entering the hall now seemed just to be the latecomers arriving from town. He had seen the Dodo, and Bill, the Lizard; he was even positive that he had spotted Mary Ann somewhere in the crowd, in long gloves and a delicate gown of blue and white. Musicians hired by the Queen of Hearts had been joined by a choir of singing flowers from the Looking Glass Land, and, on top of the townsfolk now merrily dancing, Theodore had spotted the Gryphon and the Mock Turtle sitting near the stage, the latter singing along mournfully and looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Everyone, particularly the monarchs, was dressed in their finest, and it was a veritable feast for the senses.

Theodore was distracted from his contemplation of the crowd by a sudden stir of gasping and muttering from the door. Frowning slightly, he moved forward to see; the crowd parted slightly, drawing back from the newcomer, and he caught a flash of rich purple and white lace. And stared.

It was the Cheshire Cat.

Already so imposing in the casual clothes he wore every day, his power was only enhanced by the formal silks he had donned for the ball. His jacket was cut short at the waist, tailored to perfection, and, like his high-waisted trousers, a stunning dark violet. His white shirt was crisp and fresh, accenting the rich, shimmering purple of his vest. His buttons were silver, inset with glittering violet stones, and a swirling pin of similar colours kept his cascading lace cravat in place at his neck. He had replaced his elbow-length gloves with a pair of short gentleman's gloves, the fingertips coming to a point to avoid puncture by his claws; he had even, Theodore noted with some amusement, donned a pair of black dress shoes.

"You look—stunning," the Rabbit said, still staring, as the Cat approached him.

Chesh smirked slightly, taking his hand and bowing over it, his fluffy tail flicking back and forth behind him. "I guessed, by your rather stunned expression," he said, kissing Theodore's fingertips.

The Rabbit blushed, stammering.

"Your compliments do wonders for my ego," the Cat said, straightening up, a more familiar smile flashing across his face. "But as much as I'd love to remain by your side and lap them up for the rest of the night, I have to pay my respects to the royalty." He nodded towards the nearby Red Queen, who was looking at him with an expression frank curiosity. "I'll be back soon."

"Of course," was all Theodore could say, still struggling to collect his thoughts. Chesh smiled again, kissing the Rabbit's palm, then let him go, moving off towards the Kings and Queens. Theodore couldn't help but compare his finery with theirs; every time, the monarchs came up wanting.

Now that he was in the thick of things, he could observe the guests more closely, and his attention was diverted by the townsfolk whirling around the dance floor. Dodging around them, he gained the relative quiet of a table against the wall, but quickly realized he wasn't the only one taking refuge there.

Not twenty feet away, down the table, the Mad Hatter was sitting with his back to the wall, watching the dancers and happily conducting the music with one hand. The March Hare was next to him, sitting close, one arm over the back of his chair. When he spotted Theodore, he shot him a glare, but there was a touch of fear in his eyes. Theodore was sharply reminded of the look on the Hare's face when he had come to deliver their invitation, and he blinked, looking at the pair of them with a new gaze.

Why did the March Hare fear the ball?

Did it have something to do with the way his eyes seemed to track the Hatter's every movement?

Theodore's consideration of the Hare's emotional state was brought up short by the arrival of the Duchess at their table. He looked away, not wanting to observe any kind of display between her and the Hare, but his caution was unfounded; the Hare barely looked at her. She seemed almost timid, showing none of her usual boiling rage or overeager kindliness, and obviously didn't want to be the first to speak, but when the Hare continued to say nothing, she opened her mouth.

"Might you perhaps fancy—"

"No," the Hare cut in.

"No?" the Duchess said, taken aback.

"No," the Hare repeated. "You bore me. I'm staying here."

"But you promised me a dance, March," the Duchess pleaded, laying her hand over his. "Please, won't you—"

"I _lied_, Clarissa!" the Hare snapped, jerking his hand back. "I said you bore me. Get away."

"Oh, please—" the Duchess said, reaching for him again. She never had a chance to touch him.

Before she could make any other move, the Hare jumped to his feet, striking her across the face. "You stupid woman! Get away from me! I don't want your fucking dance!"

"You promised, March...," the Duchess whimpered, pressing her hand to her reddened cheek, and suddenly Theodore realized that while she had given the Hare permission to use her given name, she had received no such permission in return. "You promised me..."

The Hare shot her a murderous glare, and she fled.

The Hatter had been watching this exchange in shock and fear, but scarcely a moment had passed before it seemed to slip his mind completely. "Who was that, Harlan?" he asked pleasantly, back to conducting the band idly.

"No one of consequence," the Hare said, sinking back into his chair. Now that the Duchess was gone, he seemed to be perfectly calm again, but even more unwilling to let the Hatter out of his sight than before.

What on earth was going on?

Before Theodore had the chance to puzzle out the answer to that question, he felt a touch on his elbow, and he jumped, turning around. Standing next to him was the diminutive figure of the Dormouse. Before Theodore could open his mouth to speak, the Dormouse raised a finger to his lips, nodding at an empty corner farther away from the Hatter and the Hare.

As they walked, the Rabbit took the opportunity to observe him, for if he was ill-acquainted with the Hatter, his knowledge of the Dormouse was even sketchier—in fact, he couldn't remember ever having seen him awake before. He was fairly pale, though nowhere as near as light as the Rabbit's own albino skin, and freckled, with curly auburn hair and large, floppy ears of a soft grey-brown. His clothes, in shades of dusty green and brown, seemed a touch too big for him, and he moved with the cautious clumsiness of one who has just recently woken up. He didn't look dazed, though—in fact, his pale green eyes were very alert, darting around the room and assessing everything he saw.

When they had reached the safety of the corner, he turned to Theodore, bowing briefly. "Thank you for speaking with me," he said. His voice was light and lilting, almost musical, and Theodore was almost surprised to hear him talk. "I know we've never been acquainted, but I am in desperate need of your assistance."

Startled, the Rabbit could only nod. "Please—I'm at your service."

"To be honest, I don't know that there's much you can do for me," the Dormouse admitted. "But you're in very close contact with someone who _will_ be able to help."

"The Cat," Theodore said.

"Yes." The Dormouse nodded. "I would like you to pass a message to him for me—I think he will know what to do."

"But he's here," the Rabbit said. "Wouldn't it be better to speak to him yourself?"

The Dormouse gave him the most frank look Theodore had ever seen on any face, especially one so given to sleepiness, and for a moment he felt foolish.

"Of course. How stupid of me—he's a cat and you're a mouse. I apologize," he said. "I'd be happy to pass on any message you need."

"Then please tell him," the Dormouse said, "that ravens and writing desks grow less alike by the day, and that they will soon be overtaken by spring fever if we cannot do something."

Theodore hesitated. "I'm sorry. Ravens and writing desks grow less alike by the day?"

"And they will soon be overtaken by spring fever," the Dormouse said, nodding. "He will understand. Please."

Though the message sounded like utter nonsense to Theodore, in the face of the Dormouse's desperation, he could do nothing but accept. "I'll tell him."

"Thank you," the Dormouse said. "Hopefully it's not too late." And then, bowing again, he left the Rabbit on his own, and was swiftly hidden in the crowds.

Theodore felt rather overwhelmed by everything he had learned recently, but as much as he might have liked to contemplate it, he heard a crash from across the ballroom and came to the sudden horrible realization that he had left the servants unsupervised for the last fifteen minutes—and if there was one thing he had learned while working in the Palace of Hearts, it was that Wonderland servants were never to be left unsupervised.

It was two of the servers, as he had feared, and a small crowd had already formed around them by the time he had got there. The pair of them were tangled up in a heap, one sitting on the other, bickering with each other with no regard for anyone else or for the broken glass, champagne, and salmon pâté now covering both of their tunics. But before Theodore could advance to scold them both and send for a mop and bucket, the Cat stepped out of the crowd, looking down at them with a tolerantly amused expression.

With a moment of concentration, the entire mess had vanished into thin air, the trays were rescued from the floor and piled high with conjured glasses and delicacies, and the servants were both clean and dry again, without a single stain showing on their livery. They didn't seem to notice at first, continuing to argue about who had been going in the wrong direction, then without a single sign between them they both stopped talking and looked up at the Cat, who had quirked a brow in their direction.

"I suggest, next time, no matter which direction you are going, you watch out for someone coming the opposite way," he said mildly, bending down to lift them both to their feet. The tray of champagne glasses went to one of them; to the other went the hors d'oeuvres, which looked rather nicer than any Theodore had yet seen coming out of the Palace kitchen. Losing interest, the crowd dispersed, and the two confused servants were left to look down at their trays, then at each other, then back up—but by the time they had, the Cat had already moved on.

"You handled that rather well," was all Theodore could say as Chesh took his arm and led him away from the scene of the collision.

The Cat smiled. "After cleaning up the whole Palace already, that was nothing."

"Speaking of which, I'd better get back to work," the Rabbit said regretfully. "I can't let that happen again."

"It won't," Chesh said, and he spoke with such certainty that Theodore couldn't help but believe him. "Dance with me, love."

Theodore's heart thumped in his throat. "Now?"

"Of course," the Cat said with a charming smile. "I want everyone to see me dancing with you, so that they know how lucky I am."

"Oh," Theodore said. "Well. I guess that's okay, then."

Chesh just smiled, taking his hand and leading him onto the dance floor as the band started playing a waltz—and, since Theodore hadn't heard them playing a waltz all evening, he was fairly certain that couldn't have been a coincidence. Still, he wasn't going to question it, not when it meant the Cat would put his hand on his waist and hold him close for the entirety of the dance. Distantly, Theodore was glad Chesh was leading, because he could hardly remember the steps.

But the Cat didn't seem to care, and soon neither did Theodore. He could feel the weight of the crowd's stares on them, but they were easy to forget about. All he had to do was look into Chesh's eyes.

The Cat was smiling down at him with the most tender expression Theodore had ever seen. The Rabbit was suddenly left breathless—and he was fairly certain it wasn't because of the complicated spin the Cat had just put him through.

"About a month ago," Chesh said suddenly, his mouth close to Theodore's ear, "after I rescued you from the Caterpillar... I promised you something while you slept."

"Really?" Theodore asked softly. "What was it?"

"I promised that I would be your safe place," the Cat said, taking a deep breath. "Your asylum. I promised to look after you. And I just wanted to know... did I do a good enough job?"

Theodore looked up at him, surprised red eyes meeting concerned violet. He thought about all the times Chesh had comforted him; he thought about how safe he felt sleeping in his arms. He thought about how, two months ago, he could barely function without checking his watch every half hour, and how now he only looked at it when he needed to pause and calm down. He thought about all the late nights he had spent in Chesh's bed, and how comfortable he felt right now, publicly displaying his feelings in front of everyone he knew. And he smiled.

"Yes," he whispered, pulling Chesh down into a soft kiss. "Yes."

* * *

The End


End file.
